


The Undead Vessel

by TheLostAbstract



Category: 9lives (Band), Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Demons, M/M, Multi, Religious Undertones, Vampires, demon hunter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLostAbstract/pseuds/TheLostAbstract
Summary: Dylan’s heart hardened. He wasn’t going back to Hollywood. Nothing would change his mind.





	1. Masters and Slaves

Dylan opened his eyes as he felt the sharp sting of moonlight on his scarred body. A small smile formed over his lips as he thought of how the night was still young. If he had more of his blood he would take his youngling and make him see the only Heaven one could experience on Earth. Alas, his horny and starved protégé was fully satiated from feasting on him earlier, and he was completely drained, but equally satiated. Dylan bit his lips, thinking of the beautiful man bleeding him dry and milking him just a few hours ago. It was a gorgeous sight to Dylan, seeing the golden boy possessed with blood lust and desire. All his attention trained on him, just like Dylan liked it.

“You were gone much longer than usual,” he observed, rubbing his face against the sheets. He turned his neck to look at the equally naked man beside him. His youngling’s skin glowed like the moon outside their window. Completely un-marked and glistening with sweat, he almost looked human from the amount of blood and release of endorphins. Even in his weakened state it made Dylan hard looking at the rose tinted body. _So perfect._ The only thing that belied their activities was the dried blood dripping from the blonde’s teeth and beneath his nails. “Danny?”

Danny shrunk away from him, pulling the covers around his lower body. Dylan frowned. He had never been modest before tonight. Sometimes he was a prude and Dylan had to coax him into trying a couple things, including drinking blood, but he thought they were past that. Danny could be a perfect little slut, or innocent virgin when Dylan wanted him to be, but there were some moods the older just couldn’t figure out. He was too tired and weak to pry, but he wanted to know what happened.

“Don’t be like that,” Dylan mumbled against the sheets. Danny inched further away at the sound of his agitated voice. Dylan reached out to touch him but was too weak to move. Sighing, his eyes darted from the blood saturated the sheets to ceiling painted with splashes of crimson and black, and other bodily fluids that dripped down into a pool crimson on the floor. The entire bedroom glistened in a wet vibrant sheen of spent lust. Danny hadn’t just been violently starved he was inexplicably horny. He wasn’t satisfied. This was new for his little blonde.

“Talk to me, Danny.”

“I just hate that I lose control like this,” Danny mumbled, staring at his hands.

“Why?” Dylan asked. A wicked smile spread over his lips. “Do you find me repulsive?”

“No,” Danny said quickly. Too quickly, his voice cracked at the end. He turned away to hide the pink blush lighting up his cheeks. “But you… why do I? Why do I crave you so much?”

“Because you don’t engage in enough sexual acts, _Cherry_.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what, Dannyboy?”

“You know what I mean, and that’s not any better,” Danny said with a sigh. “My desire for you is getting stronger. You said it would fade.”

“It usually does, but you’re not satisfying your needs. Your human sins become amplified when you turn. Yet you continue to refuse giving into the temptation. We’re already damned I don’t know why you even bother trying to fight it. Unless…” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he licked his lips. “There’s something you want to confess to me?”

Danny hid his blushed face, but managed to speak with a level tone. “You said if I only drink from you then I would be saved.”

“I told you a lot of things when I turned you. I had to calm you down, you were so wound up and I wanted to bend you over more than I wanted to drink your blood. You drove me fucking nuts, and this is your gift and your punishment.”

“You’re a dick,” Danny muttered, giving Dylan his back.

“I know and you love me for it,” Dylan replied smugly. “It’s a shame that you don’t open yourself up to more experiences. You don’t know just how hot you’d look all tied up ready to be used and abused.”

“I think you’re fantasizing about _yourself_ ,” Danny spat.

“On the contrary, my Cherry. I’m thinking only of you and your desires. I’m thinking of how much better _everything_ would feel for you. If you thought sex was hot when you were a human just imagine the intensity of it now.”

“Shut up,” Danny grunted. They both knew he was a virgin when he was turned. It was one of the things that excited Dylan in the first place. Danny thought he was only going to lose his virginity not his humanity when he succumbed to the vampire. He bristled when he felt the soft pad of Dylan’s fingers drawing circles over his lower back.

“Easy, baby. I didn’t mean anything by it. I gave you the world so you could enjoy it. Not hide from it like a monk. Sin can’t touch you now. Nothing can.”

Danny gritted his teeth to fight back the moan. With all the will in his body, he replied in a teasing voice, “Are you trying to say you don’t want me anymore? I can ditch you at any time.”

Dylan chuckled as he noticed some of Danny’s spunk returning. It was another thing that lured him to the golden haired boy in the first place. “You don’t need restraints for me, Cherry. You just need to show your pretty face and I’ll bend you over in a heartbeat. And you can never get rid of me. You’ll always come back to me.”

“You’re just for feeding. You need me more than I need you.”

“Oh, how you wound me.” Dylan pouted with a dramatic sigh and removed his finger He hid a smirk when he saw the small crack in Danny’s resolve. “But I know you don’t mean it. You could never mean any of those nasty words you say to me.” His voice dropped its usual sexy edge as he said wistfully, “I just wish you’d let your guard down and enjoy yourself more. You’re immortal. You’re voice is gorgeous thanks to the gift I gave you.”

“Really?” Danny asked. Dylan bristled as he heard the heavier tone in the younger vampire’s voice. Danny reached out to run his hand over Dylan’s naked body. He smiled as his fingertips hit a fresh fang bite since it caused his maker to hiss in pleasure. Paying special attention to the fresh marks he continued to touch him, arousing his lover. “Because when we met you said I sounded like an angel. You even called me one.”

“I did, and you were. Still are,” Dylan answered, doing his best to control his voice. “But now you sound like an entire symphony of angels…” His voice trailed off into mumbled curses as Danny continued to expertly touch his body.

“You know if I left that would mean no more feedings. No more gazing at you in the middle of the night.” Danny let his fangs extend as he bent close to Dylan’s neck. His hot breath heating Dylan’s skin, but the vampire was completely spent and couldn’t move into the heated touch. The desire inside of him ignited and was growing into pure lust. “Letting you feel me before I strike.” Danny said, moaning as he recoiled from Dylan’s neck. “You’d miss me too much.”

“Fuck you,” Dylan moaned in elation as he felt Danny’s hand sweep down over his spine stopping just short of his ass. Dylan bit the pillow to hide a whimper. He drooled on the pillow as he clamped his eyes shut. “I want to fuck you so hard.”

“You can feed from me,” Danny offered eagerly.

“No, Cherry,” Dylan said, pushing his hand away. Not sure where he found the strength to do that, but he didn’t question it. “You drink the sin from me and I show you Heaven,” Dylan said before turning his face away. “I just want to touch your golden hair.”

Danny smiled at his master’s sweet words. He lay pulled the long rope chord dangling from his four-poster bed. It somehow had avoided the blood bath and remained pure black silk. Laying his head beside Dylan’s on the pillow, he placed Dylan’s limp hand on his head. The older vampire smiled as his fingers entangled in his flaxen locks. Danny let a smile form over his lips as he gazed back at the other vampire. He loved his master’s touch as much as he loved teasing him. Dylan made such a lovely cat in their wonderful game of cat and mouse.

“Master.” A largely built Creole woman appeared at the door. “Will you be taking your dinner now?”

“No, he won’t,” Danny spoke up before Dylan could utter a word. He rose to his elbows and turned to face her. “Let him feed from you.”

“If this is my master’s bidding…”

“It is,” Dylan growled in his lowest commanding baritone voice.

“Yes, sir,” she replied and presented her neck to him, close enough that he didn’t have to exert too much energy to reach it. She allowed Danny to angle her just so for the perfect bite.

“You are so special to me, Cherry,” Dylan said as he bit her neck. His eyes never left Danny as he drank deeply from her. Danny returned the gaze with renewed desire and lust ripe in his eyes.

…

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, I rid thee evil of this world. I seal you in his Holy Name. That you may never return to Earth. In his name I cast thee into the fiery…”

The words rumbled over the roar of the winds. Blood poured from the creature’s mouth as it screamed in its last agonizing breath. Jorel felt his knees go weak as he felt that beautiful cry penetrate his core. Every time a demon was vanquished it released a beautiful enchanting song similar to a swan’s last breath. It was easy to be lured in by its tone. It was one of the ways new evils could enter this world and continues it’s reign. That’s why one’s mind had to be clear of every possible thought and focused on the Lord Almighty without any doubt in their heart. Otherwise the evil would find it’s way inside and continue to exist. Jorel was very vulnerable at this crucial moment.

Instead he stared at the pitiful gnarled creature writhing in pain at his feet. It’s wings shriveled up into tiny twigs with flimsy netting that disintegrated. It’s body convulsed and it’s limbs snapped in half as it doubled over onto the ground. It’s jaws split at the seams, peeling back to reveal a purple skeletal jaw and fangs. Spider web like cracks shot across its bones, breaking them further into tiny chips that were swiftly blown away by the wind.

Flinging itself onto it’s back, it kicked up dirt as it hissed and reached out to the sky, begging for release. It howled and launched itself onto it’s side, Lashing out, it took a swipe at the chanting priest, but the azure light emitting from the Holy Man burned the flesh right off it’s claws. Yowling in pain, it thrashed more violently around in the dirt. Then it’s eyes fell on Jorel. It’s pupils dilated searching for a way into the man’s body. Jorel was open to him and ripe for taking, but its eyes grew wide and sacred. Quickly retreating, it whined and moaned. Fresh white and orange flames engulfed him. Jorel’s eyes widened. Those weren’t a part of his teacher’s chant. He always spoke and worked with blue light. Never white. It was too hot and too evil.

The wretched being coughed a desperate plea to someone or something, but it went un-answered. Its body grew stiff and collapsed on the ground. It cracked sternum to pubic bone. Green gas swirled from the crevice. Jorel knew it was releasing its pungent odor, but his mask spared him, as did the one his teacher was wearing. He wondered about the flames and if his teacher saw them.

“Jorel,” his teacher huffed beside the decaying demon. Immediately Jorel moved forward handing him the crucifix and a towel. His teacher moved his light blue mask aside to quickly kiss the pendant and wipe his mouth of the blood that was draining from his chapped lips. The creature had taken a good chunk of his cheek when the flames ignited. Jorel saw the wound and knew with a sinking feeling it was his fault. He had been distracted and open for the demon to take him. His teacher saved him.

“George, I’m sorry.”

“Let’s go.” George commanded. He didn’t face Jorel as he began to walk down the rancid alley. Jorel looked hesitantly between the demon and his teacher. “Now!” He without turning and quickened his pace.

Jorel had no choice but to follow him. In the distance he heard the muffled sirens of their back up arriving. George left the demon’s body intact so the research department could have something to study so they could create better weapons to defend the city. Yet the fact that he hadn’t guarded the corpse until they arrived meant Jorel was in serious trouble.

He remained silent as he chased after him. Every hurried step hurt his body. He was in great shape, but the damp air had seeped into his bones and muscles, making every step and breath that much harder to take. His teacher moved like a beast, or ignored the inevitable pain completely, quickly navigating the labyrinth of back alleys to the golden streets. Jorel couldn’t help but catch sight of the shapes of evil lurking in the alleys. He remembered.

A faint whistle drifting over the wind drew him to a stop. He knew if couldn’t be, but the familiar feeling of lust went straight to the core of his body. He shut his eyes, gasping slightly as he fought back the memories and tried to keep pace with his teacher. Different hands held him than the ones that blessed him in the Brotherhood when he came to give himself to the Order. He remembered temptation. The pure poison of it. If something was that good, he didn’t see how it could be wrong.

A strong hand on the scruff of his neck jostled him from his night dream. He yelped, but was pulled roughly along the path of light. His feet could barely keep up and he stumbled. Each time George caught him and pulled him onto the right path once again without complaint. He never spoke to his pupil, but continued to drag him into the lighted streets.

The Brotherhood stood erect along the gloomy horizon. In the sun it sparkled and glistened like a golden beacon welcoming all into its open arms. Yet in the darkness, it made Jorel’s skin crawl. It glowed brighter than any neon sign outside a strip club in the same acid hue. It looked haunting with its stiff peaks and hard curved lines of the buttresses, not much different than the wings of the demon that had just perished by his teacher’s hands. It’s pristine stained glass windows were a muddled tapestry of undefined shapes. Nothing was welcoming about this place at night. The gargoyles were awake and at their antics.

Circling high above the bell tower, they laughed and cackled as they caught the currents of wind. They fought each other, slashing each other up before finding their perch. Though they were bound to the place they were carved and would never leave, it amazed him that these ferocious creatures served the parish and the priests. They weren’t to be trusted.

Jorel was thrown inside the building just as the old wooden doors slammed shut. Some of the lingering patrons and scholarly pupils were startled from their worship. His master sighed, running a hand through his hair. He bowed apologetically to his audience. Snatching Jorel’s mask off his face, he shoved it into his hands before shoving his pupil to the side. They walked hurriedly through the vaulted hall along the side of the pews and entered through a door.

Continuing in silence, they took several hallways and spirals of stairs until they came not to the punishment chamber but the kitchen. The cook’s assistant was tending to a warm fire. He paid little mind to the teacher and pupil, except for placing another log on the flames. The priest made Jorel sit as he fixed him a plate of leftovers and a tall glass of milk. Setting the meal down in front of his pupil, he sat across from him.

“Never wear your mask inside the sanctuary. You only wear it outside when you are vanquishing demons, but in here you bring peace from your heart. You never hide yourself. You show yourself and let the people into your heart. _That_ is when you should allow yourself to be open. _Only_ then.”

“Yes, George,” Jorel mumbled, looking down at his hands.

“You’ve been through a lot, Jorel. I know this. You know this, but things like this can’t happen anymore. You’ve been here for several months. You progressed faster than any of my previous students in your combat and exercising studies. Yet, you continue to open yourself.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Jorel protested.

“Really? Whose fault is it, that demon that you opened your mind to? Who would have possessed you if I weren’t there? Who would have taken you straight back to…”

“Stop, please,” Jorel beseeched softly.

George sighed. Taking Jorel’s hand, he asked, “What happened out there? What did you see? Feel?”

Jorel hated that he still felt those shameful things when his teacher looked at him like that. His gaze was intense and it made him weak. It made him think back to when he first saw him. How he enjoyed watching this strong man wield weapons and have such power over the demonic. The violence got him excited. No. He couldn’t think of that now. But he couldn’t tell George he was still so open to demons. He didn’t want to leave George’s side.

“I… I don’t know…” Jorel muttered.

“Yes, you do, Jorel. Now talk to me so I can help you overcome your obstacles.”

Jorel remained silent.

“I think you’ve had enough field work for a while.”

“George, that’s not…”

“You weren’t present out there!” He stood, knocking back his chair as he rose to his full height. Slamming his fists on the table, he continued, “How many times do I have to tell you? If your mind is not prepared, not clear of every impurity of your humanity, you should _not_ be out there, even if you are only assisting me. You can’t learn properly because you aren’t training all of your senses. You do well in combat, but your mind is still weak. Everything must be in perfect sync for you to be a true assassin of The Order,” George ranted. His breathing was hard and forced as he glowered down at his pupil. Jorel shook with fear, shrinking further back in his chair.

“Teacher, I…”

“Go to your room, Jorel,” George cut him off. His voice was more controlled now, but still forceful. “Finish your food and then go to bed. Tomorrow you will report to Jordon for archival duty. You need some time to think and reflect. I’ll collect you once I feel you are up to par again. You are dismissed.” He said and left the room.

Jorel felt shame hit him as George’s words cut him to the core. He tried to remind himself that George only did it because he was worried about him. Yes he yelled, but then his tone had softened. George cared about him like no other ever had and not since is father died. It really was all Jorel’s fault. Like always. He let himself become distracted. Ignoring his dinner and the kitchen assistant, he walked the long corridors to his dormitory. It was nearly pitched black without the torches lighting his way, but he’d never had a problem seeing his way in the dark. It was one of his rare gifts, but one he never mentioned to the priests at the Brotherhood. He wondered if George knew.

Once in his room, he sat on his bed and buried his head in his hands. He didn’t cry, but his emotions ran rampant, causing everything to ache. His stomach turned and his head throbbed. It almost would have been more merciful if George had just beaten him. He hadn’t been beaten for weeks and George had never beaten him. No. George was a man of the Logos. He used his voice and his words to inflict pain or in this case teach a lesson. He led by example. It bothered Jorel how perfect he seemed.

 _Maybe that’s what really drew me to him?_ Jorel wondered. He remembered the time before, and he remembered how good it felt. The demon trying to enter him was a hot reminder, one that made his skin break out in Goosebumps and his dick throb. It masturbating was allowed in The Order Jorel would have to relive some tension.

Finally, Jorel resolved to curl into a ball above the covers. He took out his rosary and started reciting the prayer his grandmother had taught him. Cursing, he found his mind drifting off to what he saw that night to distract him so much. He’d witnessed many demons dying before. It wasn’t that. Maybe if he thought of something else. The only other thing he thought of was Jordon, that slimy, scheming, priest. It was rumored he could foretell the future and that was the only reason he was kept around. Jorel hoped he had enough beer and pot to get him through a day of working with him in the archives.

Clamping his eyes shut, he tried to will away the rest of the world and tried to un-fuck his inner world. He needed to say the rosary several times before he found a few spare minutes of sleep.

…

“You going to scream for me this time, little bitch?” The banshee hissed in Jordon’s ear as he fucked him mercilessly over his writing desk. The priest just groaned. Pulling his hair back, he bit Jordon’s throat causing the smaller to cry out. “Hm.” He hummed against the reddening flesh. “Almost there.” Clutching his hips, he pounded harder into him, not caring how bad it hurt. Sensing he was close, the banshee ripped Jordon’s head back by his hair, making him bend at a painful angle. The priest whimpered and groaned in pain that was quickly swallowed up when the being sealed his lips shut. Jordon came, screaming the banshee’s name into his mouth. The banshee moaned and growled against Jordon’s panting lips. The scream amplified his arousal, making the painful position much more enjoyable for Jordon and made him cum harder.

Once completely spent, he pulled back studying the panting priest beneath him. It was a beautiful sight. Jordon’s pale skin glowed red from the spanking and the teeth marks and saliva that covered his perfect ass. The marks shimmered in the low torchlight, igniting the banshee’s blood red eyes into a hazed desire even in his post-sex euphoria. The banshee licked his lips as he panted, savoring the taste of Jordon on his tongue and the feel of his body beneath him. Leaning forward, he fisted Jordon’s hair and placed a bruising kiss between his shoulder blades. He could leave marks in certain places. Priests were perfectly modest in some regards. The banshee liked that.

He snickered as he let his lover collapse onto the table when he pulled out. He loved putting his priest’s ass on display and here it was, cassock around his ankles and cheeks ready for another good hard spanking. His fingers dragged over the other’s body as he walked around his prize. Kneeling in front of him, he slipped a hand around his jaw. Cupping his chin he raised it to meet his eyes. Jordon panted, but returned the desired look. The banshee smirked seeing the breathlessness of the man before him.

“I’m glad we did confession first,” the banshee teased and kissed his quivering panting lips possessively. “Otherwise, confessing what I did to you would make me want you again. I’d tear that pretty ass of yours to shreds.”

Jordon sighed, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he moaned at the thought. Every moan and gasp that escaped from Jordon was quickly swallowed up by the demon. The banshee loved how vocal Jordon was. He fed on the sounds as much as he screamed himself. It was a different kind of pleasure and his priest never disappointed him. “Want to suck me now, little bitch?”

“Can’t breathe,” Jordon whispered.

The banshee smiled wide. “I always leave you breathless, don’t I?” He released Jordon’s chin, and snatched his spent body up into his arms like his bride. “Time for bed then, my little bitch.”

He carried his love slave to his cold bedroom and tucked him in, but instead of lying beside him he left him. He had work to do. Another demon was dead and he had to scream. He could feel it was the work of the priest George. It always made DaKurlzz curious as to why George of all people became a priest. There was so much DaKurlzz knew about the man’s past, but he never uttered a word. Not even to Jordon.

This kill was unique to all of his previous ones. It seemed half assed which was not the priest’s style. Something went wrong and he could feel darkness in this absolution. It wasn’t complete. There was an attempted possession that went wrong. He’d have to check with the big guy. That is if the banshee could be bothered to investigate. He tended to get bored and liked flying under the radar. It’s what kept him alive. Maybe he could tell Dylan, if he ever found his one time friend. He hadn’t seen him in years and rumors spread that he was dead. DaKurlzz knew he wasn’t.

He turned to look at Jordon who lay sprawled wantonly on the hard bed. It made him smile, and raised his desire seeing him sleeping innocently after his cock had been buried balls deep in his ass. His perfect little toy. DaKurlzz wasn’t ready to leave Hollywood, not after the hell he went through to get his little prize. He’d won and now he was reaping the benefits, as was Jordon or Charlie. There was no time to think about that. The night was young and full of death. The banshee was ready to scream his voice raw. He wondered if Jordon would be able to do that next time he fucked him.

 _Something to masturbate too,_ DaKurlzz thought with a wicked grin as he leapt off the window ledge. As he descended into the endless void of the city, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was an odd foreboding spike of energy. DaKurlzz hissed angrily. He didn’t want to have to deal with any of the potential shit brewing.

…

Dylan lounged against the doorframe; smoking the joint Danny had placed between his lips before falling asleep. His lover tended to get sleepy after being fucked raw by the older vampire. His subordinate’s blood was laced with ecstasy, just the right amount, to help him make Danny’s undead body levitate into euphoria. The warm ocean breeze washed over his damp skin. The air was still thick and laced with sex and heat, just the way Dylan liked it. The current blew his curtains, causing them to wrap around his naked and nearly healed body. New Orleans, his mansion on Lafayette Square, and his sleeping love in his blood soaked king sized bed. It was all too perfect.

He never left his youngling after one of their passionate nights of feeding and fucking, but he knew Danny would move on like he always did. His golden boy never stayed in one place too long. What he was running from Dylan didn’t know. Dylan didn’t need to run anymore. He was home and he liked it right where he was, hidden from the world as well as the next. Now he could just exist and fuck, drink, smoke, and feed as much as he desired. No more rules anarchy or otherwise. That’s why the conversation from earlier bothered him so much now.

_“Hollywood? What is there in Hollywood?” Dylan asked._

_“Lights. Music. You told me I have the voice of an angel. I have a potential record deal there. I want to see how far I can go charming people with my beautiful voice, not just the gifts you gave me.”_

_“You charm me out of my pants with just a few words. Isn’t that enough?”_

_“You’re too easy,” Danny teased. Swiping the toke from his lips, he gave his maker a kiss before taking a long hit. “Sounds like you’ll miss me.”_

_“Never,” Dylan chided, pinching Danny’s cheek. The younger grinned and wiggled a bit in his lap. Dylan smiled, but still his love talked on about Hollywood._

Dylan couldn’t understand it. Danny never set down roots until now. He was planning to remain in Hollywood for some time. That city made the older vampire shudder. Even with the warmth of the breeze, he felt cold.

“You’re thinking too loudly. I can’t sleep,” Danny said. Placing a kiss on Dylan’s upper back, he wrapped his arms around his waist. Dylan hid a relieved smile beneath his rogue curls that fell in his face. Danny laid his head against Dylan’s shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.”

Danny hummed happily. “I like where this is going.”

“Hollywood.”

“So you _will_ miss me,” Danny said, amusement in his voice.

“Just curious.”

“About?”

“How are you going to feed if you don’t leave the city? Because I guarantee you, baby. If you leave me here and stay in Hollywood only to come back to me when you’re starving, I’ll tie you up and never let you go. Ever.”

“Sounds hot,” Danny hissed as he rubbed himself against Dylan. “But don’t worry. I have a plan.” He rose to his tiptoes to place another kiss this time on the base of his throat.

“Oh, really?” Dylan asked, squirming slightly as the kisses trailed up his neck to just beneath his ear. Danny held his jaw in one hand so he could continue kissing him. “What is that?”

“You’re going to come with me,” Danny replied and stuck the joint into Dylan’s mouth before he could protest.

Dylan’s heart hardened. He wasn’t going back there. Nothing would change his mind.

…


	2. Under the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a deep sigh, he wondered if mortals held grudges as long as the Undead did. Or even the mortal undead that stalked the boardwalk. Nah, they can barely function. Oh shit…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I made a couple changes to Chapter 1. Notably "The Church" that I referred to is now being called "The Brotherhood". The original name bothered me. Also, the boys will use their stage names outside of The Brotherhood. This will be explained in later chapters. Apologies for backtracking! Just needed to get this fic out of my head and posted so I'd commit to it.
> 
> As for this Chapter and the rest of the story, will definitely be a 9Lives fic as well as an HU fic. Just so you know. Enjoy!

Danny glanced up from his knees, searching the other man’s face for some sort of reprieve. The man just frowned at him, his eyes laced with lust. His hand threaded in Danny’s blonde hair, grabbing tightly and pulling.

“What’s wrong, mon cher?” The man asked as he began to card through his hair. His touch was deceptively sweet. Danny knew what he wanted and what Danny offered. He bit his lip to keep it from quivering. Why and how did he get himself into this position? Oh right. Dylan. Fuck him.

The reality of his situation hit him like an ice water bath. After the fight with his master, Danny had stormed out of the plantation house and quickly found the other creatures of the night that strolled Lafayette Square. Using his untapped sex appeal, he writhed and danced sensually against the bricks, moaning softly and giving the bedroom eyes to many who passed. He didn’t know why exactly he was acting in such a tawdry fashion or why it felt so good to feel himself up on a public street, but it did. Dylan had always teased him for being a pure little virgin, but now he was taking command of his sexuality. The perfect revenge and fuck you to his maker, until now.

Now Danny hesitated with his soft fondling of the man who towered over him. He never meant for it to go this far. He’d only meant to provoke Dylan into coming after him. Of course the vampire didn’t. He was probably strung out in his bed with three or four of his personal toys to feed and pleasure him. The sweet whispered words of praise for Danny’s soft hands and innocent touches did little to encourage his ministrations to start again. He was trying to figure out another way out that would still win him Dylan as well as his freedom from this situation. He didn’t like being on his knees for this man. It didn’t feel right and he was scared of what he would feel if the man would want more from him. Despite the punch to his pride, he wished Dylan would save him or at least be the man towering above him. He’d feel safer if it was Dylan despite his inner denial to not let himself be dominated by his master. Why didn’t he ever take Dylan up on his offers to introduce Danny to the sinful world of sex? It would be better to get it over with anyway.

 _Because he’s a fucking tease. He’d never touch me. The selfish bastard,_ Danny reasoned silently.

“Come on, pretty. I’ll pay you after you suck me off. Now quit playing with me and put your mouth on my dick like a good little slut.”

Danny licked his dry lips, feeling every crack along the rouge and battered skin. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward slowly. The man pulled him the rest of the way and Danny bit back a curse as the hard dick pushed past his lips. It felt too big and tasted weird. Danny fought the urge to pull back in disgust, fearing the man’s reaction. He wanted to flee but felt powerless.

“Fuck, watch the teeth,” the man growled. Tugging the back of his neck, he asked, “Is this really your first time?”

Danny must have looked pitiful because the man’s agitation settled and he started stroking his head soothingly. “You mean I got me a little virgin?” He glanced behind Danny. A blush rose to his cheeks, knowing the man was looking at his ass. The ghost of an enterprising smile spread over the man’s lips. “How much more is it to fuck you?” Danny’s eyes widened and he tried to pull himself off the man’s dick, but he was held in place. “Easy mon petite vierge. Just suck me off as sweetly as you were fondling me and we’ll discuss fucking you later,” the man said and pushed his lips against Danny’s mouth. Danny grimaced as he felt the man’s pubic hair brush his nose. “Now suck me real nicely, little slut. Use your lips and mouth.”

Danny gagged as the man shoved his cock all the way down his throat. He seemed to get off on causing Danny to whimper and manhandle him. Danny placed his hands on the man’s hips to steady him, but all he wanted to do was run away. He didn’t want to be a whore, at least not this man’s whore. He wanted to be loved and cared for, not used and discarded. Tears pricked his eyes as he realized everything he wanted and what he was being made to do.

_But Dylan does both. He wants me and then he tosses me aside. I don’t… Fuck. Why am I thinking of Dylan right now? I don’t fucking love him, do I?_

Bitter liquid pooling in his mouth brought him out of his thoughts. Thinking of Dylan made him start bobbing his head up and down. Soft moans from above indicated he was sinning perfectly. Realizing it was still this Cajun, he wanted to spit out the pre-cum. It tasted disgusting and he didn’t want to swallow. He fought back the feelings and silently felt grateful the man quit fucking his face, though his hips still shot like a piston when Danny hit the right spot.

“That’s it. That’s it,” the man chanted as he moaned heatedly. His hips were picking up speed and Danny’s throat and lips were being rubbed sore. Danny knew he was getting close and he shut his eyes, trying to accept his fate.

A sharp piercing scream filled the air and the man went rigid, but Danny felt nothing in his mouth. The thrusting stopped. Cracking open his eyes he looked up to see the blood red eyes of Dylan glaring down at him from above the man’s shoulder. The vampire’s fangs were sunk deep into the man’s collarbone. The Cajun’s head was bent back at an unnatural angle and his mouth was open, gargling obscenely.

Dylan pried his mouth off the man. Blood dripped from his curled lips and dagger like fangs. Glaring at Danny he snarled, “Don’t you fucking dare swallow.”

With a sharp kick, he sent Danny backwards. The blonde landed on his ass and watched as Dylan drained his night patron. It made his mouth water, watching Dylan steadily suckle on the man’s skin. It always excited Danny to watch Dylan take another person’s life. Ripping his mouth away, Dylan purred and casually snapped the man’s neck, letting him drop to the cold concrete in front of Danny’s sneakers. As he savored the taste of his victim on his lips, Dylan’s eyes fell to Danny.

The intensity of his gaze made Danny shuffle backwards, but Dylan shot forward. Pinning Danny to the concrete, he restrained the blonde so he couldn’t move more than an inch. Dylan’s lips were on his, harshly kissing and sometimes piercing his skin. Danny squeaked in surprise but the blood dripping down his throat let him easily succumb to the lust and pain. He caught the sight of Dylan’s eyes dancing with excitement as he turned his head for a better angle.

Something in Danny snapped and with a great will of strength tossed Dylan to the side. Rolling to his hands and knees, he mounted the Mexican and tore open his pants. Fabric ripped as Danny pulled them down just enough to expose Dylan’s ass crack and pushed his legs up into his chest. As his mouth feasted on Dylan’s wanton lips again, he lowered his finger to tease Dylan’s rim. Soft amused chuckles rumbled against his lips, but Danny didn’t heed any embarrassment. The human’s blood surged with desire and Danny felt ever desire intensified within him. All he wanted was to fuck his maker into the next century. His fingers slid between Dylan’s ass cheeks, causing the older vampire to moan and arch his back taking the finger deeper. That was the moment in which Danny froze expectantly and withdraws.

“Sometimes you are the most insufferable tease, Cherry,” Dylan groaned as he felt cold wind brush his hard on.

“What did you do to me?” Danny asked, crawling away from him.

“Don’t fucking act all shy, or I’ll never be able to make it home,” Dylan grumbled, turning away from him. He started jacking himself off. “I have to take care of this because of you’re sudden performance issues, and your sexy ‘it’s my first time and I’m shy’ is not fucking helping.”

“I thought you said we couldn’t experience that kind of lust.”

Dylan ignored him as he finished himself off, and then rolled to his back. He shimmied around as he fished out a cigarette and a lighter, not bothering to pull up his pants. “We can and we can’t.” Flicking the lighter several times, he lit his cig and exhaled. “Mortal feelings are passed to us through the blood. That fuck.” He jabbed a thumb at the dead man. “Was fucking horny for you. I drank his blood, killed him, and so I took on his lust.”

“But I…”

Dylan groaned. “ _You_ took on his lust when I kissed you. You drank his blood from my mouth.”

“No,” Danny whispered more to himself than anyone. He looked down at his hands glistening with blood, sweat, and semen. “My blood is tainted.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Danny!” Dylan screamed and slammed his fist on the concrete, breaking it. “You’re already damned. I fucking damned you when I turned you. Get over it and live your fucking life.”

Danny didn’t say anything, but hugged his legs into his chest. Inside he tore himself a part. He grew up in a Catholic family where everything he did and thought should always point to god. Now he was a sinful abomination in the flesh. He felt lust and greed. He was a glutton for his master’s blood. He didn’t even thank Dylan properly for saving him and here he was sniveling about his bloodlust and desire to fuck his maker. That’s all it was. He was so scared both now and when he was getting that man’s dick shoved down his throat. He was an ungrateful, spoiled little… His thoughts died away as he felt Dylan’s warm arms wrap around him.

“I can be a selfish dick sometimes. And I usually am with you and that’s not fair to you. I just want you to live your immortality to the fullest,” the Mexican whispered softly into his hair.

“No, Dylan,” Danny replied, returning the hug. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Dylan asked, pulling back confused.

“For saving me from him.”

Dylan snorted. “Danny. You had the power to overtake him at any time. You’re a vampire. You’re strong. You know this, so why don’t you use your power?”

Danny opened his mouth, but remained silent. He didn’t know. True, he’d only been a vampire for about a year, but he rarely used any of his powers let alone his super human strength. He didn’t know why he opted for innocence and weakness. He wasn’t weak. He was stronger and more powerful than any human despite only having one blood source.

“Fear, Danny. You’re still so scared of what you have become. You won’t let yourself truly feel what it’s like to be a vampire.” Dylan rubbed his knuckle against Danny’s cheek. “I don’t want you to be scared anymore. This is what I mean when I tell you that you need to live.”

“You’re scared too,” Danny challenged suddenly.

“Of what?”

“Of coming to Hollywood with me.”

“That’s not fear, Danny.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

“Brains. There are things there that you’re not ready to see. I wasn’t ready for it.”

“So see? You’re scared of your past!”

“No. I’m smarter than my past.” Dylan continued when he saw Danny’s mouth open again. “What is so wonderful about Hollywood? The sunny skies? You haven’t seen the sun in a year, and you won’t be able to start now so what’s really there? Why can’t you go to New York or stay here in Louisiana, or even fucking anywhere in Mexico? Go somewhere that embraces the night because that’s when you thrive. Hollywood isn’t the golden city that you think it’s going to be.”

“How do I know if I don’t try? You want me to live but then you hold me back from my plans when I make them. You’re always trying to control me,” Danny snapped. He didn’t know where this passion and fury was coming from. Ever since becoming a vampire his moods could be erratic especially when they involved Dylan. “The record company is there and I want to be there! Don’t tell me what I do want and don’t.”

“Now I’m telling you what to do? You couldn’t make up your mind two seconds ago,” Dylan shouted back, eyes darkening with anger.

“That was different…”

“No, it wasn’t, Danny. You just don’t want to admit it and you’re twisting words around to fit what you want.”

“So just like you?” Danny asked with a proud grin.

Dylan raised his hand and Danny offered his chin for the slap, but the older vampire surprised him. Lowering his open palm, Dylan’s face warped into a vicious pattern of lines and fangs. His eyes burned almost black as he glared at Danny.

“Go, Danny. Just go. I’m not going to follow you, but I don’t care if you go. Just don’t come crawling back to me.”

“Is that it, Dilly? You think once I make it big in Hollywood I’ll forget about you? Face it. You need me. You’re scared of losing me, because…”

Dylan kissed him, but it was all fangs and little mouth. His tongue danced around the edges of the wounds mindful to not taste Danny’s blood. The blonde moaned softly enjoying the feel of Dylan’s teeth. A hard slap sent him tumbling backwards. Pain throbbed on the entire side of his face. Blood trickled from his clenched lips and Dylan’s strategic thin lines of blood. He removed his hand almost instantly from his burning cheek as he gazed up at the blurry vampire towering over him.

“I don’t want to go there because that’s where I was fucking made and I saw too much fucked up shit to want to go back. Mortals exist like the undead, but we have more life in us than they,” Dylan seethed. “Like I said if you want to go. Go. I’m not going to follow you and I don’t want anything to do with you any more. I came here tonight because I felt fear radiating in your blood. You think you will be able to live in that fucking town? Then go. Find out for yourself. You’re going to be more than someone’s one-time whore. I guarantee you that. Don’t look for me, because you’re not going to find me. I’m done with you.”

Dylan was gone before Danny could blink. He couldn’t feel even the smallest hint of his presence. It was as if his maker was never there. It made Danny shudder as if he was cold, but he felt something akin to fear. Loneliness? Maybe. He couldn’t quite place the feeling. There was the concern that Dylan has truly abandoned him. He wasn’t sure and wasn’t sure of anything, except that he wanted to go to California.

…

Jorel woke with a start. His entire body ached and was drenched in sweat as if he’d just run a marathon. He inhaled and exhaled rapidly, his heart pumped ferociously as if it was going to break out of his chest. It was the same horrible dream. The one he could never remember but always left him feeling disoriented and vulnerable when he woke up. His symptoms varied from being physically sick, to emotionally drained, to super horny, to angry, to madly depressed or happy. That was just the short list.

Despite the trauma, he didn’t feel like was a nightmare. When he was in the dream he felt good. He at least knew that feeling, despite not being able to remember it. The events of the dream hung on the tip of his brain but he never remembered. Each time he tried, he felt panic take over his body and he’d started to tremble. Once he became paralyzed when he tried to remember it. George had been mortified and remained at his side in the hospital for two weeks while he recovered. It was strange because while in there Jorel never had the dream. The lack of the dream left him mind numbingly empty.

This morning was not unlike the others. Aside from being physically high there was a bloodstain on his bed. It was small and could be easily washed out with soap and cold water. He needed to stock up on lemons again. They were more effective and good in a pinch with seltzer water, which he always had. On his way to the bathroom, he noticed there was a five-inch crack on his window. He wondered briefly why it looked like it was in the shape of a crescent moon, but he reasoned it was a coincidence or his imagination, and it had to have been a bird. A big bird.

After he was done washing his sheets, he laid them to dry around his room and got dressed. He tried to hide the smile as he made his way to the library. It was never really punishment to go to the archives. Jordon was the biggest pothead in the entire The Brotherhood. They never would kick him out though because he had a special ability to see the future, so in a sense he was untouchable. Some of the priests didn’t care for his demeanor but no one really went to the library anymore, especially since the invention of smartphones. They’d cataloged all of their knowledge on a deep web server.

George and Jordon were friends and often George would come down to read when he needed solace. He still liked the feel and smell of books and never passed up the opportunity to indulge in the pages. When Jorel first came to the Brotherhood, he started out in the library under George’s instruction. That was how he met and befriended Jordon. The guy was a smartass, but was infatuated with Jorel. He loved him like a brother and always proclaimed to be his biggest fan. He was the reason that Jorel started his fighting training with George earlier than most recruits.

“Hey, Jay,” Jordon greeted him with a nonchalant wave. He lay sprawled out on a couch dosing in the sunlight. Seeing his friend, he rose to a sitting position and swung his legs off the armrest. His smile was wide and welcoming. “What brings you by today?”

“George told me I’m supposed to help you out until I’m ready to go back to field work.”

“Fucked up again for Saint George?” Jordon snorted. “What a dick.”

Jorel smiled at his friend’s consolation, but muttered, “It _was_ my fault.”

“What?” Jordon asked around a piece of paper he had wedged in his mouth. He looked around for his personal good book, ready to get a party started with his friend. Motioning for Jorel to sit on the couch, he asked, “Had another distraction by some hot demon ass?”

“Fuck you,” Jorel muttered. The relief from finally being able to curse washed over him. Euphoria.

Jordon snickered as he rolled two joints. “I’m right there with you. Some of those demons are hot as fuck, but of course they are. Lust couldn’t be a deadly sin if it weren’t for hot demon dick.”

“Demon dick?” Jorel asked with a raised brow.

“You’re telling me you’ve never taken it up the ass?” Jordon asked. Jorel blushed and turned away. “I thought I told you to quit getting embarrassed around me. Fuck. I’ve done way worse than you have.”

Jorel rubbed his arms. Still a little uneasy, he changed the subject. “So have you had any more premonitions?”

Jordon chuckled and lit the first toke. He slowly exhaled a long plume of blue smoke before handing it to Jorel. He snickered a little as he leaned back against the couch. Finding the sunlight on his face, he answered, “Yeah, had a long one just the other night.”

“Is someone going to die?” Jorel asked, sitting closer to him. He sucked hard on the toke, taking a long drag. His eyes clamped shut and he moaned like a whore in heat as the marijuana swarmed his senses. Perfection. He could feel the mind numbing elixir flooding through his blood, slowing him down and making him feel good and relaxed. His mind was easing into a state of equilibrium and his anxiety and need to act out was subsiding.

“Most likely. All I know is there’s a field with a lot of blood.”

“Did you tell Yuma, yet?”

“I just fucking woke up, bitch,” Jordon retorted, taking the joint back. “The fuck are you so anxious for me to file my report anyway?” He took another hit, longer this time to make up for how much the kid greedily took.

“I… I had the dream again,” Jorel admitted.

“And you still don’t remember any of it?”

“No.” Jorel shook his head, leaning back against the couch. “I woke up with only a little blood, but my body burned like I’d been working out all night. I don’t understand it feels too good to be a nightmare, but it really fucks me up.”

“When do you feel good? I thought you hated this dream.”

“I do. When I wake up I feel all fucked up and shit. But I experience the dream when I’m in it. It’s like a residual feeling that I experience later in the day. Kind of like déjà vu or something. It’s only my senses going on high alert, but that’s how it feels, so I’m dreaming of my dream. Fuck, I don’t know.” He grabbed the joint back. Jordon’s movements were slower so he didn’t put up a fight when it was ripped expectantly from his mouth. “Do you think that means I’m going to die? I thought they would stop when I moved into the Brotherhood, but they’ve only gotten stronger. Can you do a reading on me?”

“That’s not the way my premonitions work, Jay. I’m sorry.”

Jorel sighed and put his head in his hands. “I don’t know why I tell you any of this. You can’t do anything.”

“It’s good to let things out sometimes. Besides you don’t want to tell George, or have you changed your mind about that?”

Jorel paused despite knowing the answer immediately. Even though he knew George was his teacher, and essentially his master, he didn’t feel like this was something he could talk about with him. It felt too intimate and he feared the backlash from his confession. The dreams weren’t exactly erotic, but on more than one occasion he’d woken up with a wet bed and a raging boner. He was late to training those mornings and George was furious. Yet, Jorel knew it had been more than just a wet dream. It wasn’t the sexual experiences that kept Jorel from confessing to George. It was pure fear of what the other man, whom he secretly loved and devoted himself to, would do.

“Guess not,” Jordon said suddenly. “You haven’t had enough punishment so let’s drink.”

Jorel laughed and watched Jordon pull out several forties from a secret compartment under the couch. “Don’t you need to actually archive or some shit like that?”

“Are you kidding? I have underlings for that boring ass work. Now drink this all down before they get here. They’re due in after noon.”

“It is after noon,” Jorel pointed out as he took a swig.

Jordon looked at the clock. “Well, fuck me. They’re late.” His lips smacked as he pulled the bottle away. “Wait. Did I even put in a request? Meh, who the fuck cares.”

“It’s amazing you’re still here.”

“I’m glad I am, so I can watch out for you. Seriously, Jay. Why don’t you want to confide in George? He’s a good guy despite his rough exterior. He’s basically a fluffy little kitten deep down inside. He wouldn’t have sat with you in the hospital or taken your sorry ass in if he didn’t care about you.”

 _Because I secretly love him and want him to bend me over and fuck me, but that’s forbidden in the Brotherhood and he’s straight as a stripper pole,_ Jorel thought. He bit his lip so he didn’t say it.

He let Charlie take over the conversation with whatever he wanted to talk about. Jorel soon forgot about his dream and the lingering feelings that coiled inside. It felt good to just relax and not have the pressure of learning all of George’s teachings and living up to what he expected.

 _Huh. Maybe George does know what Jordon’s really like,_ he thought with a smile and an extra long chug of alcohol. The only thing that marred his happy state was his thoughts about the crescent moon shaped crack in his window. He wasn’t sure why that intrigued him so much and he wasn’t even going to tell Jordon. He’d have to check on it when he went back to his room. There was something about it that made his blood race.

…

George grunted as he fell on his back. He tried to rise despite the soreness in his back, but a sword pressed against his chin. Squinting he looked up to find the playful eyes of his sparing partner staring down the full length of the practice sword. He wasn’t afraid, but very pissed off that Yuma had beaten him three times in a row. George more than out weighed him and was more muscular but the lithe asshole seemed to be dancing circles around him all day.

“You’re hardly an opponent today, Georgie. Want to call it quits so you can go lick your wounds and try me another day?” Yuma chided.

George just knocked the sword away and rose to his feet, growling, “Not until I have you flat on your back.”

“Ooo, getting kinky are we?” Yuma teased with a laugh. “The way that sounded the Brotherhood really needs to rethink their stance on homosexuality. Or we could just yell no homo before we… shit!”

Yuma had just barely blocked George’s attack. The other priest’s teeth were bared and his muscles strained with agitation. He didn’t waste any time with delivering blow after heavy blow against his partner. Their long hard steel clashed and slid against each other. Erecting themselves once again, they tried to pierce through the other’s defenses and render the other powerless. Yuma stepped quickly trying to stay ahead of the charging beast and get some leverage to fight back rather than just attack him. George was moving with a possessed ferocity that was blocking Yuma from any strategic thought. Yuma was on the run and he knew it, but something was very off with George.

The blade came down with a colossal swing. Yuma just barely caught it with a backwards motion of his arms. His elbows were bent at an awkward angle and he looked to George to back off, but the other only narrowed his eyes. With another sharp turn and clash of steel, Yuma was disarmed and yelped in pain as it pinched a muscle in his shoulder blade. Before he could call an end, George kicked him hard in his chest with his thick boot. Yuma didn’t have time to scream but fell with a loud thud to the ground. His head hit a second later with another loud thud. For a few minutes he saw fog envelope George’s face then blackness.

…

DaKurlzz strolled down the boulevard, unfazed by the skeletal humans that lined the grimy streets. For as long as he’d been around, nothing really fazed him anymore. Nothing excited him since his boss and partner’s royal fuck up with the High Council. DaKurlzz still didn’t know the full details all he knew was that he went underground for a long time. DaKurlzz knew he was angry and went on a rampage on the gutter trash. How he kept it from the higher powers was a mystery even to DaKurlzz who tended to know everything or at least predict everything. Like how DaKurlzz knew it was because he lost the most important thing to him. He wouldn’t admit that, but DaKurlzz knew better. How that little snake managed to get back in with the High Council was beyond him.

A tattooed hand clamped over his mouth and he was pulled back into a skinny hard body. A thin nasal voice chuckled in his ear as it whispered, “Don’t say a fucking word, Screamer, or I’m going to end you.”

 _Speak of the fucking devil._ _Deuce,_ DaKurlzz thought as he rolled his eyes. _Such a fucking drama queen._ The only fear he had now was if Deuce saw him roll his eyes. It would definitely piss the guy off, and DaKurlzz didn’t feel like dealing with a temper tantrum from the little ghoul. Some days he enjoyed setting Deuce off to see him turn red and seethe angrily. Usually it led to a nice fuck session. DaKurlzz was always up for getting his dick wet and Deuce’s tight ass was always perfect.

Deuce’s other hand snaked around DaKurlzz’s waist to rest at the top of his jeans. One finger dipped between the fabric and his skin. Another chuckle followed by a heady purr, “Unless you bend over and show me that soft virgin ass of yours, baby.”

DaKurlzz moaned in spite of himself, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back on Deuce’s shoulder. Distantly he knew that Deuce was manipulating his mind, but he didn’t care. It’d been to long since he fucked his priest last night and he war horny already. The other stepped back, dropping DaKurlzz and laughing the banshee stumbled and swayed. Deuce caught his shoulder to steady him as peace offering.

“Fuck, Deuce,” DaKurlzz grumbled. “You always have to be so fucking dramatic?”

“Just playing the part, baby” Deuce said, spreading his arms wide. “Haven’t seen you around much, Mattie. Tell me, are you still a virgin?”

“Are you going to ask me that every time you see me?”

“Until you let me stick my cock in your ass to check, yes, yes, I will,” Deuce replied.

DaKurlzz rolled his eyes and pushed his hair out of his face. Deuce continued, “So got anything new for me? Or were you too busy ramming your little priest?”

“Scholar,” DaKurlzz replied, exhaling around two cigarettes. He held one out to the other demon.

“Same difference,” Deuce replied, taking the cigarette. Twirling it between his knuckles he gave a thankful nod, and asked, “Is he really that good of a fuck?”

“Don’t even think about it,” DaKurlzz hissed through clenched teeth.

“Shit, baby. You’re so uptight.” Deuce exhaled as he perched on a trashcan. “Guess you haven’t let someone fuck you.”

“You want my report or not?”

“Shoot, Kurly Fry.”

“The Brotherhood is gaining money and political power. They’re becoming stronger and their numbers are growing.”

“Good job,” Deuce replied sarcastically with a slow clap of his hands. “You can watch the TV and repeat what it said.”

“They’re learning the art of exorcism and are vanquishing demons on a regular basis.” Deuce flinched and it gave DaKurlzz satisfaction to wipe that carefree smirk off his friend’s face. “They don’t have to go through the channels like The Vatican. They just walk the streets looking for demons. They learned how to hunt demons from the Voodoo queens in New Orleans. They’re not playing around. If they misstep they can cover it up as a murder or drug bust. They have friends in high places, but no one can pinpoint them. These fucks are slick, so you’d better watch your step, demon fag.”

Wild laughter erupted from Deuce’s mouth, startling DaKurlzz. He looked over to see the skinny bastard laughing loudly, rocking back and forth on top of the trashcan without a care. Still laughing he rolled off. DaKurlzz shot forward, arms outstretched to catch him, but Deuce turned into a cat and slipped through his hands. He landed on his feet and meowed loudly at DaKurlzz. The meows bled into laughter as Deuce shifted back into his human form. He rolled to his back, clutching his stomach and wiping tears from his eyes.

“Seriously? After all our witty banter, demon fag, is the best you can come up with?” Deuce asked while trying to regain his breath. “ Fuck, thank you. I needed a laugh.” He rolled to his belly and propped his chin in his hands gazing up at DaKurlzz with a teasing smirk. It made DaKurlzz’s knees weak. “And you actually thought I was going to fall? Kind of touched and disappointed in you, my little curly haired bitch.”

“Lick my nuts,” DaKurlzz growled back.

“Ah ah. Don’t tempt me little boy unless you really do want my nuts,” Deuce waggled his finger. “Besides, I’ll leave that to little Charles.” Deuce held up his hands before DaKurlzz could rebuttal. “So you find out anything else?”

A wide grin spread out over DaKurlzz’s face. “Yeah.” He turned slowly to face his friend. “They’ve upped their recruiting game and are training them to be hardcore demon killers.”

“That’s not too new,” Deuce scoffed. “Unless you got a location for their training grounds.”

“Pssh, of course. Give me your phone.” DaKurlzz motioned with his hand. Deuce stood and handed it to him. They stood in silence as DaKurlzz tapped in the address.

“So what was with that wacked out grin?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah you do, bitch. Spill.”

“Just make sure you get on the mission to raid the training grounds.”

“Why?”

“Just be there. You’ll thank me for it later,” DaKurlzz replied cryptically and turned away. A shot rang out and the banshee fell to the ground with a hard groan. DaKurlzz’s head felt heavy. Clutching his head, he rolled to his elbows and tried to get his legs under him. He saw the small pool of blood beside him and felt it soaking his t-shirt. His fingers brushed over the bullet that was sticking out of his skull. He wavered back and forth as he worked his way into a sitting position. Deuce helped lean him against the brick wall. His head rolled around his shoulders as he tried to open his eyes and glare at his shooter.

“You prick. The fuck is wrong with you?” He pulled the bullet out and threw it aside.

“You can’t die, Screamer. We both know that,” Deuce replied his grin was marred with anger. His eyes were sharp and burning with fire. “And you pissed me off. Just wanted you to know that.”

DaKurlzz curled his hand in Deuce’s shirt and pulled him to his knees before he could run off. Pulling him close, he growled, “Consider it payback for what you did.” He gave a hard shove and sent the vocalist onto his ass.

“Fuck you, Mattie. That shit wasn’t all my fucking fault. You fucked him over just as much as me,” Deuce hissed as he shifted into a raven and flew off into the ebony night.

DaKurlzz shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the hard bricks. Taking a deep sigh, he wondered if mortals held grudges as long as the Undead did. Or even the mortal undead that stalked the boardwalk. _Nah, they can barely function. Oh shit…_

DaKurlzz screamed loud. Another mortal had died. He just had to figure out if it was by the Brotherhood’s hands or not. This shit was getting way too serious for him.

…

His senses were coming back to him slowly. He felt his body supported by a soft mattress, far better than what he normally slept on in his room. Sterile air flooded his nostrils as a dim light passed over his closed eyelids. His mouth tasted like cotton and his head swam with pain, but he wasn’t dead. He reasoned he ought to be a tad grateful though he never really cared if he died, so that seemed like a waste of emotion. Then he felt a gentle hand brushing his sweaty bangs from his forehead, followed by a voice.

“Yuma.” It was barely above a soft whisper, but he recognized the owner.

“George,” Yuma slurred, trying to move his head.

“No, no. Don’t move.” George took Yuma’s head in his hands. “The doctor said you should move as little as possible. You had a concussion.”

“Oh yeah. That explains why I feel dizzy. I guess I didn’t go see Jordon after all. Huh.” A wry smile spread over his lips as his eyes fell half shut. “Uh, you can let go of me, George. I promise I won’t move. Scout’s honor.”

Reluctantly the other complied and continued to stare at Yuma. “You were never a boy scout.”

“They changed the ruling so I could be now, but thanks for rubbing it in.”

George didn’t take the bait for Yuma’s jab and continued to stare heavily at his friend.

“Uh, you don’t have to stay here with me. We’re not leg shackled and you’ve got other things to do. You can go back to work. Maybe find Gadjet? No wait. That’s my job. What a fucker for up and disappearing like that on us, huh? You could maybe spar with one of the newbies. They might be on par with your current lack of talent, you angry sloth.”

George ignored the insults and the constant jabbering. Yuma developed a mouthy habit ever since he joined the Brotherhood and a cynical sense of humor. Before that he was much quieter and more collaborative. George liked him better like that. He’d been more of the anchor George never knew he needed. George was different back then. Really they all had changed since their early years.

He hated thinking of how Gadjet had disappeared from The Brotherhood, and it was his fault, just like Yuma lying in the hospital was his fault. So much pain. So much guilt. He thought he could control his emotions, but his anger won out a lot. Yuma was usually the one to help ease his burden, and although he knew that the guy wasn’t even the slightest bit angry he couldn’t let himself believe it. All he believed was that Yuma the latest casualty of his anger and his hurt. He tried to calm himself by thinking about he hadn’t hurt Jorel. Yet. George would punish himself within an inch of his life if he ever raised a hand to Jorel.

Wanting to break the cycle of his vicious debate of his inner voices, he quietly mumbled, “It’s my fault you’re in here, so yes I do have to stay.”

“Always have to be so self righteous,” Yuma chided. He sighed and shut his eyes, not wanting to see George’s reaction to what he was about to say. Lately he didn’t know when to stop talking. He blamed it on losing his friends and lover in the dividing war. “George? Why don’t you just tell Jorel?”

George was silent for a while before he stated simply, “There’s nothing to tell.”

“No fuck. There’s a shit ton. There’s so much he doesn’t know, and he’s lost even more. You’re not doing him any favors by holding him back from reality. After everything he’s been through he deserves to know.”

“He doesn’t _need_ to know. He doesn’t need to know anything. He’s making good progress and he’ll continue to make progress. I gave him my word when he came to me. He was completely beaten and degraded. _You_ didn’t see him. _I_ did. I’m not going to act like his last _friend._ ”

“They weren’t friends,” Yuma said with more resentment in his voice than he meant to have. “Did he really ask to forget so much?”

“Forgetting helps wounds ease,” George said sternly.

“But not heal.” Yuma balked Doctor George’s orders and turned his head. Opening his eyes, he continued, “He won’t break, George, and he won’t run. He’s too smart for that. He’s been through too much to break now. If anything he can do more, and feel proud of himself.”

“I liked you better when you were quiet. You’re lucky you’re in this state and that I put you in it so I’m not strangling you.”

“I know. I’m taking full advantage of it.” Yuma smiled. “You have such perfect timing for my comedic relief.” He turned his head back up to the ceiling and stared as if he could see past it and into the sky. “There’s got to be another way out.”

“Quite talking like that, you fag.”

“I’m a cigarette now?” He laughed at his own joke. “But I’ve gained so much more weight since I was as thin as one. You like me skinny. You always had a thing for skinny pricks.”

“Yuma…” George began to growl, but the other quickly interrupted.

“Look. You don’t have to tell him everything at once. Start small, but start telling him what he needs to know. There is no other way out for either of you, my thief. He needs to be ready for anything that’s coming in this fucked up world. Especially when he comes back for him.”

“Language. We’re not on the battlefields so we can’t be excused,” George responded. “Have you seen Jordon?”

“No. We’re just good friends,” Yuma joked, but his tone became serious as his eyes fluttered shut with exhaustion. “Tell Jorel. It will bring both of you closer together and I know you _both_ want that. Trust me. He won’t run. I can’t tell you why I know this but I do.”

“How do you know?” George asked, mentally kicking himself for asking the dumbest question for that moment. He was usually smarter than that, but when it came to Jorel’s well-being he rarely was smart.

“Call it a premonition.”

“Did Jordon have one?” George asked hopefully.

“No. It’s one of my own.”

“You’re a lucky man,” George growled.

“I am. I got to be on top of you and under you all in one day. Such a perfect day for sword play.”

“I’m not feeling so guilty any more,” George replied haughtily, but Yuma smiled.

“Good. Then you can quit perving on me. Seriously, your gaze isn’t letting me rest. And I know you don’t want me like you did once upon a time. All joking aside, I hate when people feel guilty. You especially. You take on so much and give so much, and yet you beat yourself up over the smallest thing. Why won’t you let yourself be happy? When are you going to let yourself get something nice in return?”

“When I die.”

“There’s no guarantee in death.”

“Just because you don’t believe in an afterlife doesn’t mean…”

“It has nothing to do with my belief or lack of. I strictly mean there’s no guarantee that you’ll die. Sometimes the living doesn’t let you. The Virus is saving more people everyday.”

“Only nine times,” George corrected.

“That’s eight to many.”

“So if your mother…”

“I’m not playing this game.” Yuma cut him off. “It’s unnatural to be saved that many times if death has tried to claim you.”

“I seriously liked you better when you were that shy brat. Don’t you say one word about how skinny you were back then! Why did you join The Brotherhood anyway?”

“Same reason you did. To get closer.”

“Now who’s holding back information?”

“I’m not. I’m merely simplifying my response. Superfluous words are nonsense. You read. You like words. I like music and killing people.”

“You just don’t shut up lately.”

“Because some days I’m bored out of my mind behind these stone walls. What are we doing here, George? Preparing for a war? The world is in the middle of a million different wars every minute of the day. Some we don’t even know about and even more are within people’s heads. We just don’t have sanctioned battlefields. We’re just brainwashed into…”

A gentle hand closed over his mouth, followed by George’s soft warning. “Watch what you say in here, brother.” When Yuma blinked twice, George removed his hand.

“Some days I really do want to leave, George. Gadjet’s gone. I miss him too much. Without him I just don’t have much meaning anymore, but I hate what will happen to you.”

“You just want another shot at Gadjet, but it’s not going to happen, Yuma. He made his choice. He _left_. Only in your dreams will you be with him again. He won’t lead you back to _that other one_ either. And you leaving the Brotherhood isn’t going to change that.”

“Then shut the fuck up, quit trying to bang me, and get the fuck out of here, so I can fantasize about it, fucker. And quit skirting around saying Aron’s name. He’s not fucking Voldemort.”

George laughed at the swearing, not bothering to chastise him. Even when Yuma was pissed he was so calm about it. He felt horrible for taking out his frustration and pain on him and causing him pain. Yuma didn’t deserve it. He was a nice guy, kind of cute in a smartass skinny bitch kind of way, but he had changed so much.

George thought back to when he was an acne-covered virgin teen growing up on the Hollywood streets. He and Yuma were the only two reading on the playground instead of actually playing. After that it was a lot of growing up, meeting new kids, hormones, and drugs that quickly led to more sins, fights, and betrayals. George still held grudges and missed some of his friends who went down in the streets. Some fell into drugs or bullets while others simply vanished into thin air as the 9Lives Virus spread. It was why he joined the Brotherhood. He wanted to find the reasons why they were gone and to prevent others from finding the same fate.

Yuma was the only constant throughout George’s life. He freely left The Undead Gang to join him at The Brotherhood. Everyone else in this gang joined for other reasons, but not to make sure George didn’t come apart at the seams. He met Yuma through Aron. It amused him the way Yuma followed Aron around like a little puppy, but George’s amusement quickly grew into rage, anger, and jealousy. Somehow Yuma escaped the full extent of George’s wrath. Yuma was one of those rare humans that could stay friends with you through the thickest fight, but the real cause was Gadjet coming around. The second the guy saw him, he fell hard. George enjoyed watching the two stumble into a relationship together form the sidelines. Those two were an equally hot and disgusting couple to watch. Yuma was lovey-dovey and cuddly, while Gadjet was pure sex and attitude. The Latino was awkward in knowing how to deal with the over eager kid, and Yuma was too lost in love to be concerned. It was cute and weird. Then the two finally fucked and there was no more worrying about either of them stealing Aron away from George. No matter how many times Aron gave them the eye or teased them.

Aron. That skinny little dork was such a cocky shit. Yet George felt drawn to him. He wasn’t the quietest kid, but he didn’t always talk. His attitude was four times the size of his tiny body, but George liked the way he presented himself. Aron didn’t take shit off of anyone and always let you know where you stood. There weren’t any cheap shots. George liked how direct he was, the enigma of him, the ego, everything. Aron fascinated him. As much as George thought Yuma was his rival for the Aron’s heart and attention, there was another that was even worse.

Yuma was the only constant through George’s life and the only one that didn’t ridicule the blossoming love triangle from the sidelines like Charlie and Funny Man. Those assholes. Funny Man had offered George sexual assistance. George smacked him in the mouth harder than he meant to. But it was all fun when they were the 3 Tears Gang, when they were building The Undead Gang. They were having a good time and trying to form a band. Aron was helping them learn to rap and produce their music. The future seemed so bright back then, with Jorel, Aron, Charlie, Funny Man, DaKurlzz, Yuma, and Gadjet. All of them were homies, united against the world, until it all came crashing down thanks Aron and George.

 _Is it all really that simple? Was it just the two of us fucking up that did us all in?_ George sighed heavily. _My name wasn’t even George back then._ He pushed the lingering memories from his weighted brain. He needed to talk to Jorel. Yuma was right. George had taken so much from Jorel and not all of it was for protection. Mostly it was to protect George from his own sins that he needed to be absolved from.

“Johnny!”

George nearly fell out of his chair at the sound of his old nickname. Yuma chuckled.

“Fucking asshole.”

“Now who’s swearing?” The smile never left Yuma’s lips. “You’re thinking too long. I can’t sleep, so scram.”

George leaned forward. Brushing aside his long bangs, he kissed Yuma’s forehead. He mumbled, “Thank you.”

…

 

Danny stood at the airport staring at the tarmac, watching the planes dock. The night was clear with a few stars that were bright enough to outshine the blinding lights of the runway. His breath was shallow as he chewed his bottom lip. The edge of his boarding pass was bent and damp from where he’d anxiously played with it. The feeling of hope wasn’t fully crushed, but deep inside he worried Dylan really had abandoned him. Danny had sent him a ticket for the night flight to L.A.X, but it had returned to his hotel the next day. “Invalid address” had been stamped over it. That was a deep cut. Danny knew he could be angry and vindictive as well as a complete dick, but he’d never seen this level of behavior from Dylan. It made him wonder if he really knew the man, or vampire, at all.

The announcement to board made Danny freeze. This was it. He didn’t have to get on the plane. He could remain a shadow in this wretched world. He could remain in the city that welcomed all of the odd curiosities of the undead. He could beg for Dylan to take him back, offer his virginity and stay with Dylan as his pet. Dylan liked when his prey begged him. He wondered if Dylan would even budge at the request, because Dylan said he was completely done with him. That bothered Danny. The vampire had used him to drain his sinful blood and Danny didn’t have to take the lives of mortals. That was their arrangement and helped Danny sleep at night. Danny didn’t know if that was really the extent of their relationship. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he felt for his master, but he knew there was something else. He tried to remember the night Dylan turned him. It was a blur of blood and body fluids that he didn’t know existed in his body, and almost too many feelings.

He gave a warm smile and nod to the pilot before locating his seat. His eyes fixated on the passengers boarding the plane as if willing Dylan to materialize out of thin air. Wouldn’t be the first time the vampire did that on a public transportation vehicle. Eventually enough frowns and scoffs from the other passengers clued Danny into that he was glaring at them. He made a small apologetic smile and then looked down. Looking at his mp3 player, he sighed. The same song, _Mexican Moon_ , was playing as when he stood outside the Funny Mansion and slipped the rejected ticket into Dylan’s mailbox.

The captain’s voice announced their departure. The plan lurched under his feet and the final blow struck him. Danny was finally free of his maker. Before he knew what had happened, his mind started fitting the pieces of that night when Dylan had made him one of the Undead back together.

***

The Funny Plantation Mansion looked vastly different from the last couple of times he played there. Before it had always been lit up like New York City with people roaming the grounds, dancing lewdly while they smoked and drank. The generic club music thundering from the speakers made the very Earth throb. The air smelled foul with the familiar scent of mood enhancers and other home brewed narcotics. It was like a modern day Woodstock.

This time there was nothing but a haunting shell of the house fully erect in the distance. The large white columns glowed in the muggy air, and curtain framed windows glared like dark eyes in the shades of moonlight. Yet no chill or fear ran up Danny’s spine as he gazed at it, just the familiar growing anxiousness of performing. He still hadn’t get over his pre show jitters, especially when it came to performing for the alluring Mexican. Something about him made Danny unafraid the first time he approached and made him excited to see him again the next night.

Tearing his eyes away from the house, he pressed the button on the gate. No one answered. Looking around for the usual guard, he found and heard no one. The warm wind blew in from the bayou carrying the familiar salt air that was thick like molasses. With a sharp creak, the wrought iron gate shifted forward opening the door for Danny to walk through. The closer he got to the house the more it seemed like the winds picked up speed. The last remnants of dusk’s fog lifted away, letting the night deepen and shrouding the house into further darkness. Still Danny didn’t fear, though wariness crept into his brain. Something felt different about this night, but he couldn’t place it.

Climbing the steps, he knocked a few times. The doorknob groaned and thundered against the thick wood, but produce no other effect. He waited, but no one came. He knocked again and still nothing. With a sigh he turned to leave. As he stepped onto the gravel road, a voice called out to him, “Daniel? You’re... you’re not leaving. Are you?”

“Dylan?” Danny exclaimed, his voice cracking from use. “I didn’t know if anyone was home.”

“I didn’t hear the door, but saw you from the window,” Dylan explained. “Won’t you please come in?”

Danny nodded and let Dylan lead him into the dimly lit foyer. He hung up his jacket and placed his hand on the small of his back, a gesture Danny had now grown accustomed too and didn’t jump at anymore. With his hand in place and Danny’s guitar in his other hand, Dylan ushered him deeper into the bowels of the house. Traces of the evening fog swirled at their feet as they moved from room to room. Danny couldn’t help but steal glances at everything. The house looked older than the last time he played there. Less modern and more like an antique. It was beautiful in an old-world feel. There was furniture that had a Mexican influence arranged throughout the rooms, and paintings of the Day of the Dead festival covered the walls. It seemed more like Dylan’s father’s house than Dylan or at least the man Danny knew as Dylan.

“Where is everyone?” Danny asked. “I thought you said you wanted me to play another party.”

“Well sometimes I like to party by myself,” Dylan explained with a flippancy to his manner. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want _live_ entertainment.” He took Danny by his shoulders, holding him at arms length. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to sing if I’m the only one to hear that beautiful voice of yours?”

“What? Oh no,” Danny said quickly. “It, uh, just threw me off when this place wasn’t jumping and lit up like the last time I came here. I mean it looked like a haunted mansion from the outside.”

Dylan threw his head back and laughed. Danny laughed a little with him, more smiling at the merriment in Dylan’s eyes. He loved seeing that look on the Mexican’s face. Finishing, he flashed a happy grin at the blonde. A mysterious expression danced in his eyes, but it went unnoticed by Danny who was slowly becoming more at ease in the foreboding mansion.

“Excellent, because I’ve been craving to hear your voice again. It’s like blood for me. I can’t live without it.” Dylan snickered softly as he sat at the head of the table. “But first, please eat. You look starved to death and I like my guests very much alive.”

Danny looked at the long table covered in a feast fit for a king. His mouth watered and his stomach growled, but said, “Oh, I can’t…”

“Of course you can. We’re friends now.” Dylan took Danny’s hand and pulled until his pelvis pressed against his forearm. “And I won’t take no for an answer, so why don’t you sit down and let me feed you? At least that way you can tell your poor mother what a good boy I am to her son.”

“You’re a crazy guy, Dylan,” Danny said with a shy smile and took the seat beside him.

“Thank you,” the other replied with a smirk. He began piling food on Danny’s plate without asking what he liked. Danny began to eat with a hunger that surprised even him. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days, and the food tasted amazing and fresh. The host said nothing and refilled his glass whenever it emptied. Neither Danny’s glass nor plate was never empty long. Dylan chatted about music, Mexico, Louisiana, asking asked Danny questions here and there about himself, his family, Puerto Rico. Danny answered as best he could between bites.

“Dylan, that’s enough. You’re going to make me fat,” Danny protested, covering his plate when the Mexican tried to give him another tamale.

“Just making sure I’m not being a bad host.”

Danny chuckled. “You’re not. You’re not. I assure you. I’m just full that’s all.”

“That’s good. I find I always perform better on a full stomach.”

“You’re a musician?” Danny asked his face lighting up.

“In some regards I suppose,” Dylan said pensively. “But I wasn’t meaning that kind of performance.”

Danny frowned, but before he could answer, he asked, “Did you eat anything?” Save for a few swipes of sauce and half drunk glass of wine Dylan’s china looked spotlessly clean.

“I’ll have my fill,” Dylan replied dismissively. Balancing on his elbows, he leaned forward. “Will you still sing for me now?”

“Of course,” Danny said, but flashed him a sneaky smile. “But only if you eat more.”

Dylan chuckled and reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Danny’s ear. “I assure you. I will. Now please. Sing for me.”

Danny smiled warmly and walked to the space in the corner of the room reserved for musicians. Dylan propped his leg on the table, leaning back in his chair he watched the vocalist tune his guitar. The blonde hid a blush with his bangs as he felt the penetrating gaze linger on his hands that moved so near his lower body.

Once satisfied, he started to sing. It was a slower song than his last set list, but one that could be heard best in a small quiet room. At some point his fingers drifted away from the strings and cradled the microphone loosely. Closing his eyes, Danny let the feeling of the song pour over him. The lyrics flowed from his lips as if his soul was leaving his body and transcending the ethereal planes. His hips swayed gently in tune with the somber melody as he continued acapella.

A warm pressure silenced his voice. Blinking a few times, he found Dylan’s lips pushing chastely against his. Danny quickly brought his hands up to the other’s chest and pushed him back. Staring in disbelief as the other smiled back at him with warmth. His hands covered Danny’s trapping them to his chest.

“I…” Danny stutters, unsure of why Dylan stood so close to him. “I’m sorry. Was I, um, not singing well enough?”

Dylan grinned and took another step forward. Bending one knee, he used it to part Danny’s thighs. Releasing his grip on Danny’s hands, he curled his large fingers around Danny’s face. “You’re fucking adorable. Do you know that?”

Before Danny could speak, Dylan closed the distance and took possession of his lips again. His tongue thrust deep into Danny’s willing mouth. The blonde tilted his head back, letting Dylan take more of him, and wrapped his arms up and around Dylan’s back to hold him closer. The Mexican smiled into the kiss as he felt Danny begin to gently grind against his leg.

One hand slid down to Danny’s ass where he gently massaged it, squeezing harder every so often to make the blonde squirm in his arms. Dylan hummed as he trailed kisses down his neck, sucking hard along his shoulder as he held Danny’s hair. Danny moaned as he felt the tension and arched into Dylan’s touch. The loud gasp when Danny felt pain roused Dylan out of his lustful stupor. Wiping his mouth, he brought his other hand under Danny’s ass and lifted him up into his arms. Danny instantly tightened his grip around the Mexican’s strong frame as he was carried upstairs. Dylan stroked his back soothingly, whispering reassuring sounds to calm the worried blonde. Finally Danny decided Dylan wouldn’t let him fall and he laid his head on Dylan’s shoulders. The Mexican kissed his cheek and gave him a squeeze.

Placing Danny on his King-sized bed, he drew two fingers into the neck of his tie and pulled it off. Danny watched the tie fall to the floor as Dylan crawled onto the mattress. Reaching out, he pulled Dylan’s white collared shirt free of his trousers and started unbuttoning from the bottom. Dylan forwent undressing himself and placed both hands on either side of Danny’s hips. He watched Danny’s fingers work more of their magic, before leaning forward on his hands. Taking the blonde’s mouth again, he tasted Danny with renewed fever as he felt those guitar skilled fingers work the rest of his buttons loose. He froze when he heard his zipper open and looked down between their bodies, smiling wickedly.

“Looks like you’re ready for this too, pretty one,” Dylan cooed, seeing the strain in Danny’s jeans. He palmed him through the fabric as he kissed the vocalist hard. Danny returned the kiss, whimpering slightly at the pressure on his bruised lips. He ran his hand up the center of Dylan’s chest, smiling into the kiss as he felt the other shudder above him. Leaning back into the soft pillow, he laughed slightly as Dylan chased after him. His whimpers turned into soft moans as his eyelids fluttered shut.

There was a whisper of a hiss and then Danny felt something warm and hot flood over his shoulder. His eyes blinked rapidly and he gasped. Placing one hand on Dylan’s chest, he quickly mumbled, “Wait. Wait.”

“What is it?” Dylan asked incredulously as he was pushed back. Slightly annoyed and very impatient, he took Danny’s wrist off his body. Holding it in the air and he kissed the palm but his brows were still knitted in a frown.

“I’ve never done this before. I mean… at all,” Danny said timidly, shifting into more of a sitting position. “And I’m um, not sure about this.”

“You mean you’re not just adorable, but a virgin too?” Dylan asked with a teasing grin that showed all except two of his teeth. His humor left as he saw embarrassment instead of arousal spread over Danny’s cheeks. He kissed Danny’s knuckles tenderly, trying to coax back the feelings Danny had just seconds ago. “Relax, little lion. I’ll make you feel good.”

“But… I don’t want to,” Danny said.

“What?” Dylan asked after a long pause. “But you were making all those sounds. How did you…”

“I mean what we did was nice, really nice. And I like you, Dylan. I like you a lot, but I don’t think I’m ready for it. Can’t we wait just a little longer? Please? I’m sorry.”

Dylan didn’t reply. He sat there, shell shocked at what his vocalist had said. He looked at Danny in disbelief, but didn’t really see him. Then his fingers tightened into fists, ripping the soft satin sheets. He shook slightly and Danny drew his knees into his chest as he tried to back away from the angry man.

“You fucking slut.” Dylan finally growled. “You come in here. Eat my food. Let me touch you and then this? This is the fucking way you treat me? What? Am I just a game to you, you fucking street urchin?”

Danny’s eyes widened and he tried to roll off the bed, but Dylan slammed his hand against the headboard right beside Danny’s face. Danny jumped back and sat trembling in front of a seething Dylan who swayed under the emotions building up inside of him. He seemed to be wrestling with himself and he covered his eyes with his other hand. His jaw snapped and he hung his head, letting his rogue black curls fall over his shoulders and into his face. His breath grew shallow and ragged.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he spat without looking up at Danny. “I was going to make you feel good, better than you could ever dream of feeling, but now…” His voice stopped trembling and he chuckled darkly. “Now you’re just going to be my little bitch.”

“Master, you’re not well,” said a large woman Creole woman that swept into the room. Danny wasn’t sure where she had come from, but was thankful for the intrusion. His eyes flew wide when she ripped Dylan’s hand off the headboard and pulled him away from the bed.

“Get fucking lost, Cecile!” He roared, but she just continued to push him, while hushing him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” said a familiar voice. Maria, the Spanish servant Danny remembered from the previous parties stood next to him. “Master is not feeling well. He’s normally a nice well-mannered man. Please allow me to show you to the door.”

She started to walk and he ran to catch up with her. Her step didn’t slow and Danny kept tripping over himself as he failed to keep her pace. A violent scream and the sound of tearing echoed through the house, bringing Danny to a hard stop. He smelled something foul and felt cold sweat run down the nape of his neck. It was a weird feeling of foreboding and lust.

A soft touch of Maria’s palm brought him from his stupor. Her eyes were soft, but everything else about her was impenetrable. Remaining silent she opened the front door and handed him his guitar case.

“I do hope you find it in your heart to forgive the Master, Papi. He’s really fond of you. I haven’t seen him act like this toward anyone in years. It’s just some nights he isn’t himself. It’s a mala luna.”

Danny said nothing but grabbed his guitar and hurried out of the house. She called out to him to mind the broken glass as he jumped the railing not bothering with the stairs. Shards of a broken window twinkled in the dim light, but thankfully he missed their piercing touch despite his ungraceful landing. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted sprinting down the long road. The wrought iron gate creaked then slammed behind him with the force of Danny shoving it open. His arms pumped viciously at his sides, guitar case knocking painfully into his ribs, but he kept running until he collapsed into the gutter. He rolled into a ball as he spat out the puddle water. Tears poured over his cheeks, running over the bridge of his nose as he clutched his knees to his chest and rocked awkwardly back and forth. He felt weird, emotionally spent, famished, terrified, and safe, all at once. There was no up and down anymore. No reason. Nothing but dull pains in his shoulder that he now barely noticed. Nothing made sense.

Thankfully it started to rain. Some how that made him feel a little better. He could focus on the steady rhythm of the drops pelting the ground. He didn’t have to create it. He could just experience it. It didn’t hurt as it assaulted him continuously. It made him want to feel more of it. It washed the pain away in a steady stream of tinted rose water. He didn’t notice the colors and only turned his face to the sky. The sun never rose that morning, but the sky did lighten to an eerie grey-blue.

•••

“Sir? Sir?” The stewardess shaking his shoulder roused Danny from his sleep. “We’ll be landing soon, please sit properly in your seat.”

Danny looked down to find that in his sleep he had pulled his knees into his chest and was rocking slightly just like that night from years ago. With a painful grimace and a couple of cracks from his joints, he uncoiled himself. He found it weird that he mimicked the same pose as that night, except this time he was drenched with his clothes clinging to him like a second skin and he wasn’t scared like he had been.

_But I wasn’t scared, was I? I went back after all. And I…_

“Hello everyone, this is your captain speaking. We will be landing in L.A.X. shortly. Please turn off…”

It was off Danny dreamt about Dylan’s first attempt in giving him the bite instead of the time he succeeded. It brought an unconscious smile to his face when he thought of how much Dylan pursued him. The chase. Danny always liked being pursued by a lover and Dylan had lived up to Danny’s romantic expectations of a Disney romance. Well, a Disney romance with a twist ending maybe. There were so many more memories of Dylan’s attempts to bring Danny into the Undead World. He wondered why he didn’t dream of the real bite. Glancing out the window he got his answer.

 _The moon’s only a crescent. Mala Luna. Not the right kind of moon. Dylan brought him into the world of The Undead under the light of the full moon. Such a class act,_ Danny thought, but a silent translucent tear slid down his cheek as the plane landed. He realized he was alone again. The realization of Dylan not being there hit him again. Again, he felt a little emptier inside.

“Fuck you, Dylan,” he hissed as he got off the plane.

…


	3. Something I Can Never Have (Still)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorel knew this man was one of The Undead, but it felt weird to be under the gaze of one of them. The look was intense, warm, and undeniably happy all at once. Yet, something so familiar about the way he looked, moved, every detail made Jorel relax as he gazed upon the blood stained face.

“That’s it, little bitch. That’s it,” DaKurlzz hissed. His back was curved with his legs bent just enough to cradle the baby-faced scholar comfortably in his lap. Shoulder blades hit the wall as he thrust himself up into the Jordon who’s thighs shook as he angled his thrusts to match and over take the rhythm that DaKurlzz set. Jordon clenched himself around DaKurlzz’s throbbing erection encouraging him to just enjoy the ride. It made the banshee smile knowing his little bitch wanted it bad, but he was greedy and wanting more. Threading a hand through Jordon’s short hair, he tugged him down to snarl, “Choke me while I fuck your pretty little ass.”

Jordon was too horny to question and moved one of his hands off DaKurlzz’s shoulders and to his throat. He squeezed lightly, shuddering when he felt the vibrations of DaKurlzz’s moan against his neck as he nibbled at his flesh.

“Squeeze tighter, little bitch. I can barely feel you.” It was a taunt and a command that he punctuated with a hard thrust up into Jordon. The smaller squeaked as he nearly fell to the floor, but DaKurlzz moved his leg and caught him. Readjusting him in his lap, he moaned as he felt Jordon’s hand quickly tightened, but he was still not satisfied. “Tighter you whore. I want you to make it hurt. Leave your mark on my throat.”

His eyes rolled to the back of his head as Jordon finally squeezed his throat just right. Gagging on his own need for air, he still managed to shake Jordon if the pressure ever lessened. Jordon quickly corrected himself as he continued to grind DaKurlzz’s lap, arching his back and moaning shamelessly.

“Fuck, Kurlzz, you feel so good. Fuck. I’m going… going to...”

DaKurlzz’s hips shot like a piston smoothly impaling Jordon all the way to his sweet spot. The mortal screamed wantonly, chanting DaKurlzz’s name over and over as he rode every thrust and aftershock of his orgasm, milking everything out of the banshee he could before collapsing onto the wet man’s chest.

DaKurlzz gasped as he found his breath again and his eyesight cleared. Chuckling softly he nuzzled his nose against Jordon’s damp neck. His baby boy was soon drifting off to sleep, as he lay slack in DaKurlzz’s arms. A smile broke out over his face, knowing he wore the mortal out for the day. Lifting his legs, he cradled Jordon between his naked torso and knees and held stroked his sweat slicked back. Being so near the mortal, especially after sex was as nearly as arousing as the sex and their pre-sex spanking and bondage. Jordon was indeed DaKurlzz’s little bitch. He would do anything the banshee wanted. It was one of the many things that kept him coming back.

After some time had passed, DaKurlzz eased the scholar off his cock, careful to not hurt or disturb his slumber. He paused when he saw a frown knit across Jordon’s face, but the smaller man only moved forward until he felt DaKurlzz’s chest again. He smiled as he watched the wrinkles disappear as Jordon snuggled against him. It felt nice and made him want to actually stay a little longer. He didn’t feel the need to scream. Maybe this one time, he actually would stay the night. It wouldn’t kill him. Usually he fucked Jordon senseless and then ditched him. It was easier that way. He didn’t get too attached since he knew one day he would scream Jordon’s swan song. Yet tonight Deuce’s words, both spoken and unspoken, on his mind. DaKurlzz needed to shut those out.

Scooping Jordon up in his arms, he carried him to the sofa in the darkest side of the room. Still holding him tightly, he sat then lied down. Cradling the nude mortal to his naked torso, he rolled them onto their side. He didn’t bother to re-zip his jeans. Only draped a leg around Jordon’s waist to draw him closer into his half naked body. Jordon didn’t stir but did shuffle back into DaKurlzz’s cooling body. His blood never burned for long despite the burning passion that sex with Jordon stirred in him. It was okay. Jordon was radiating enough heat to warm an entire village. Finally the banshee fell asleep to the feel of Jordon’s chest rising and falling. It felt nice.

…

The lukewarm water stilled against George’s skin. He could hardly feel it. He had lost all sensation in his body, feeling as if he existed only as pure energy. The ache in his jaw was numb. Even blinking was labor intensive. His eyes closed lightly, slipping further into the depths of his own fucked up psyche as he floated in his watery tomb. If he had a single brain wave other than to breathe he would have relished in how good it felt to finally become one once more.

Giving up, he finally gave himself over to the blissful state of non-existence, but the isolation tank had other plans for him. Gently plucking at the thin strings of his subconscious it drew him into a host of nightmares from his past. When he went by a different name. When he loved one, but lusted after another. When he wanted something he could never have.

  * ••



“Aw, fuck, fuck, fuck… ah!” Deuce screamed as he was being shoved repeatedly against the brick wall.

“This getting to you a little bit, babe?” Johnny taunted behind him as he continued to grind his rough jeans against Deuce’s naked ass. The smaller man moaned and tilted his head back. Saliva tinted with blood dripped from his bruised lips, sliding down his chin. Johnny smiled as it made him think of the juice of red cherries trailing down his porcelain skin. Leaning forward, he licked one long stripe tasting Deuce’s arousal and pain. Seeing Deuce come undone because of him, looking debauched and spent, turned him on. He groaned as he continued his hard hump against Deuce’s ass.

“Fuck, don’t stop. Fucking please, don’t stop,” Deuce whined, pushing back into Johnny.

They had just wiped out their latest rival gang and were celebrating with fucking over the corpses. It was just another day in the life of the 3 Tears Gang. Johnny had pulled Deuce’s jeans down just enough so he could rub his rough jeans against his bare skin. Deuce loved it rough and hard. The friction of the ragged material was electrifying to the vocalist. Not to be a complete sadist, Johnny reached around and cupped Deuce’s boxer clad dick to protect him from the jagged edges of the building. That was at least his reasoning. Really, he just liked to feel Deuce get hard for him while he fucked with him.

Deuce’s body jerked and twisted with each thrust of Johnny’s lower body. The skinny man was practically climbing the walls as he moaned like a bitch in heat. The uneven bricks caught his t-shirt hiking it higher up his torso. His belly would be scarred tomorrow, but he didn’t care at all as Johnny continued to tease and play with him. Johnny liked seeing him bruised after hours of passionate fucking. With a groan, Deuce whined, “Just fuck me already.”

“So impatient. So needy for me. Aren’t you?” Johnny cooed, but bent Deuce over and pushing himself all the way in. Despite enjoying hearing Deuce beg, he wasn’t in the mood for begging and just want to ram him mercilessly. Deuce gasped as he was stretched too fast. He bit his lips and spat more blood as Johnny forced himself in, but the smaller man was already plotting his revenge. Tightening himself around Johnny’s cock, he twisted his hips just right to make Johnny fumble in his thrusts. Deuce loved pissing Johnny off while being fucked. It made Deuce hard. Johnny snarled and spanked him hard on his ass. Deuce squeaked with a laugh and a moan of satisfaction. They fought each other, constantly teasing and playing, as they fucked each other raw and hard.

Within minutes they both came, Deuce arching his back and Johnny pulling and biting anything on Deuce he could. He loved how much of a pain slut Deuce was for him and Deuce loved being his pain slut. They ended as they always did, curled up together and wrapped in each other’s arms. Johnny was a firm practitioner of after care, despite Deuce not always wanting it. Many times he had tried to squirm away only to have Johnny drag him back into his lap and reprimand him like a disobedient cat. Deuce relished in pain and had no qualms about being left hurting and his ass burning, but he sometimes had a soft spot when it came to Johnny.

This time Deuce didn’t put up a fight and let Johnny rub his entire body down. Deuce was Johnny’s first guy relationship and Deuce tried to remind himself of that when Johnny got to cute with him. If he was being truly honest with himself, he actually loved the precious touches of the larger man. Johnny was gentle and thoughtful in every caress and rub of his hands, despite his size and temper. Never once did Deuce get aroused during Johnny’s aftercare, which puzzled him because he got off on just Johnny’s hand many times in the past. For Deuce touching someone so intimately always led to sexual pleasure. Johnny was different. Deuce liked that about him.

Johnny enjoyed how that he could tame the feral cat and make him purr like a satiated kitten, not only in the moment of his orgasm, but also when they were just lying in bed together. Once Deuce was completely pliant, Johnny wrapped him up in his arms, bringing his back against his chest. His fingers traced the tattoos on his arms and wrists with two fingers.

“How are you feeling, kitty?” He asked, lowering his head to rest in the crook of Deuce’s neck. His strong chest served as a pillow for Deuce’s head. His body served as support for Deuce’s back and his arm curled over his slim waist.

“Fucking ass,” Deuce mumbled half-heartedly. He secretly loved the pet name as much as the after care, but wouldn’t admit it. A soft purr escaped him as Johnny caressed his naked hip. That’s why Johnny started calling him that. “Can you feel it yet? The change?”

“I think so,” Johnny replied after some thought. He looked down at his massive arm wrapped around Deuce’s tiny waist. Despite his size, Deuce was a strong guy and could easily snap Johnny. It made him wonder how strong the skinny guy had been when he was mortal. “How long did you wait until you found out what you had become?”

Deuce hummed in thought. “I don’t know. Maybe a month or less? It’s different for everyone and I kind of was insatiable back then, so there’s that.”

“Still are,” Johnny teased.

“And you love it,” Deuce taunted back. Turning his head, he asked, “Want to know a _really_ awesome part of this?” His smile was sly when he saw the other nod in agreement. Taking Johnny’s hand he placed it on his half hard cock and moaned. “You can really go all night. Think of how many bitches you can fuck.”

“Or rather how many times I can fuck you?” Johnny taunted, biting Deuce’s earlobe. The smaller man sighed and rubbed himself against Johnny, but he knew Johnny was mortal and wouldn’t be able to do much for a time.

“So what are your powers currently?”

“Shape shifter, but that might change after being with you.”

“So you change every time you fuck?”

“No. It seems to only be when you reciprocate the fucking. You can fuck as many people as you want but only if you switch positions do you change powers. That’s why you’re most likely going to be a shape shifter like me.”

“But you won’t be a shape shifter for much longer, will you?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t change with the last person I was with before you. It was weird.”

“Maybe Yuma’s immune.”

“No. Yuma’s not like me, but he has the ability to heal people, so I don’t think he’s immune. I don’t really know just how the 9Lives Virus works or how it decides who becomes another creature, and who just gets powers.” He looked up at the sky. “No one really knows much about it really.”

“I don’t know why everyone keeps calling it a _virus_ like it’s something horrible,” Johnny said softly.

“It’s passed through sex and it makes people more powerful than the entire military, so of course people are going to see it as something horrible. People just want to see blood and they want something to hate, but when they can’t see something they feel fear,” Deuce replied. “I just hope you don’t end up regretting it.”

“Never. I want more power to change…” Johnny voice fumbled and he hugged Deuce tighter. Finally he found his voice again and chuckled. “I got you out of it didn’t I, kitten?”

“You did.” Deuce turned and pecked Johnny quickly on the lips. “Oh hey. I think I found another guy to join our crew.”

“Yeah? What’s he like?”

“Well I’ve known him for a while actually. He used to have this kind of crazy hair. Kid’s used to call him monkey. But he shaved it all off. He’s got really nice and thick expressive eyebrows though.”

“Nice and thick _eyebrows_? That’s an interesting feature to get hung up on.”

“So is your cock,” Deuce replied with a laugh. “Ow!” He rubbed his ass from where Johnny slapped him. “You just love spanking my naked ass, don’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t? Your ass is spankable and so fucking tight no matter how many times I ram my cock in it. And leaving you naked means it’s easy access for round two,” Johnny replied with a smile in his voice. He rubbed the spot he slapped tenderly. “So you think the boys will like him?”

“Charlie is going to _love_ him. Trust me on that. Funny Man better not take advantage of him. You know how he gets around young virgins.” Johnny nodded at Deuce’s words, wondering why Deuce seemed overly protective of this kid if he thought he’d be a good one for the 3 Tears gang. “If DaKurlzz would get his head out of his ass, I guess we’ll get our answer there.”

“What about me?”

“You?”

“Am I going to like this kid?”

Deuce gave him a strange look. He didn’t speak for a while only stared at Johnny. Finally he said, “I think you two are going to hit it off.” It felt like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. Instead he changed the subject. “What do you want to do about Jeff?”

“What do you mean?“

“He’s holding us back. He hasn’t done anything for the gang and usually just screws strippers and gets high. A gang’s only as good as it’s weakest member and he’s a fucking pussy.”

“So you want to off him?”

“Well since you mentioned it,” Deuce said with a wide smile.

“Sounds good to me. Should we save him for the new kid? That could be his introduction.”

Johnny hit the concrete hard as Deuce twisted in his grasp and pinned him. His eyes were glowing yellow orbs. His entire body was tense with anger. Johnny’s wrists felt wet, but he could barely move under Deuce’s impending strength. His voice when he spoke was low and came out as a snarl. “Shady Jeff is not going anywhere near Jay. You got that? _We_ are going to end him. You and me. No one else. Jay will _never_ know him. Jay is mine. He belongs to 3 Tears second. Got that, bitch?”

“Fuck, Deuce, chill.” Johnny stuttered barely above a whisper as he felt Deuce’s dagger like fingers digging into his flesh, hitting the bone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Deuce. You’re hurting me. Please stop.”

The pain eased and Deuce’s eyes faded back to their original color. He looked down at his protégé with a softened, almost apologetic expression on his face. Releasing his wrists, he scooted back to sit on his hips. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Johnny mumbled, not liking the other man’s outbursts of anger or the fact that his wrists were streaked with red. Hands took his and Deuce brought them to his mouth. His tongue extended from his red lips and started lapping at the cuts. “What are you also a healer?” Johnny’s voice was full of hurt and anger now. While he was afraid of Deuce’s instability and temper at times, he had his own moments where he lashed out at him or anyone who crossed him. He craved the power Deuce had. He wanted it for himself and it pissed him off. “Are you that fucking invincible?”

Deuce recoiled his tongue and looked up at Johnny. He felt different, but Johnny couldn’t figure out what it was. When he spoke it was softer, borderline breaking. “Everyone has their weakness. Even me. Me doing this.” He paused looking down. “Won’t have the same affect as if DaKurlzz did it. I just thought it would help.”

“Soft doesn’t suit you, baby,” Johnny said as he tipped Deuce’s chin up with a fingertip. “Enough talk. Let’s burn the bodies and then you can fuck me. The bleeding’s almost stopped.”

The corner of Deuce’s smile met Johnny’s thumb as his protégé rubbed his cheek. “I’m going to make you into one of the strongest members of this gang, bitch.”

  * ••  




Johnny shot up, hitting his head on the top of the isolation tank. He floundered around in the salt water unable to get the right position until he hit the button. The lid rose and he finally stood, rubbing his head irritably. This was why he didn’t go to the isolation tanks anymore. He seemed to only have flashbacks of his time in the 3 Tears Gang. When he started building The Undead Gang with Deuce. Deuce. Aron.

Once upon a time, he loved Aron, or Deuce, as he was called in the gang. They were partners in crime and believers in the 9Lives Virus that was now spreading even faster among the L.A. underground. Little was known about the origins of it, but Johnny felt Deuce knew more than he let on. All Johnny knew for sure was that it was contracted through sex. Powers could be changed or altered depending on the other person’s powers and strength. Johnny also knew, from personal experience, it sometimes didn’t work.

Deuce had promised him so much power and control over his deteriorating life. The fuck had filled his head with promises and hopes, so he quickly teamed up with him to form the 3 Tears Gang. Yet after countless nights of killing, spilling blood, and fucking, he remained a helpless mortal while that skinny fuck grew stronger and darker by the minute. He fell out of love with Deuce soon after and vowed to murder him and all of his followers one day. That night he left the gang was a bit of a blur, but he remembered Yuma coming to his rescue, along with Charlie. It surprised him that Yuma would go against Deuce. He’d been a member of the 9Lives Gang that Deuce was also a part of unbeknownst to Johnny. DaKurlzz and Funny Man were nowhere to be found that night. Johnny made sure to kidnap Jorel and erased his memory of Deuce to spare the kid from the lies and pain that Johnny had gone through.

He could see his spell was wearing thin and Jorel was growing restless. He liked that the kid was starting to acting a bit more like his normal self again. Jorel deserved to know more, but Johnny wasn’t ready. And Johnny or rather George now, needed to show him the way to true salvation rather than damning him to the underworld like Deuce would. George also needed to kill Deuce. Not just exorcise the demon out of him and strip him of his powers, but end him once and for all.

In the distance, gunshots rang out. The sound of breaking glass echoed down the halls intermingled with screams of pain and battle cries. Names were shouted over the vicious winds of a helicopter. Johnny’s blood ran cold.

_Fuck. Jorel!_ Johnny thought as he took off running in the direction of the cries.

…

“Unless you can meet earlier? Really it would be more convenient for everyone involved,” the irritable voice said.

Danny gritted his teeth, hating the tone of the receptionist’s voice. Truthfully, he was the one that was hard to get a hold of, but there was no way he could meet during normal operation hours. Initially, the company said it was fine and they would work around his schedule, but then they started cancelling and rescheduling only to cancel on him. The constant phone tag was starting to annoy him.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. Next Thursday is fine,” Danny replied in an even, and borderline apologetic, tone. It surprised him how much control he had over himself.

“All right, Mr. Murillo. I have you down for 7pm on Thursday,” she replied. He had to smile because her tone sounded much more forced. Then the call ended.

Danny tensed and threw his phone across the room. With a frustrated cry, he fell backwards on the hotel bed. Despite his anger, he was thankful for the darkness and anonymity of hotel rooms. The curtains were drawn and all the lights were out, leaving him in complete darkness. The lack of light felt nice on his lifeless skin.

_I bet they’re fucking some hookers or getting strung out on coke,_ he thought bitterly. Trying to distract himself, he unbuckled his belt. Raising his hips, he slid his jeans down just enough to release his cock. Taking it in his hand, he rubbed and squeezed. He shut his eyes and tried to think of his darkest hottest fantasies to help get him going. All his attempts led back to Dylan.

_Fuck him_ , Danny cursed internally and stroked faster. He shifted his hips and arched his back, trying to imagine hands, not Dylan’s hands, running over his body, teasing him in just the right way to make him beg for release. His body wasn’t cooperating. It constantly rebuffed his attempts at feeling lust and desire. Then his mind kept betraying him, going back to Dylan and the first time he met the vampire.

  * ••



Danny still found a reason to smile, despite not making much money in Lafayette Square. He’d come down to Louisiana for spring break and perform his music on the streets. The money wasn’t his concern, but the hope was that someone who knew someone at a major label would like him attracted him as well as the exoticness of New Orleans. In the last four days, he’d made barely twenty-five dollars. His money was already low and part of him was glad that he was due back to school in three days. Thought part of him was going to miss the lively city full of secrets and adventure.

His dreams hadn’t come true yet, but he had time to make it. A couple of people had complimented him. Yet, most of those compliments were on his pretty face and body. He reasoned a compliment was a compliment and continued to go back to the same spot every night, blushing and feeling uneasy under the scrutinizing gaze. It was the fifth night when he got a new kind of visitor.

“I’m bent I’m not broken…” Danny sung softly as he strummed his guitar. “Come live in my life…”

“Do you always sing such sad songs?” Asked a tall man leaning against the light post. Danny looked up to see a slight grin dancing across a chiseled jaw. A thin mustache curled over his upper lip. When their eyes met that smile extended into a full on smile. “You’re too pretty to sing such sad songs, Chula.”

Danny felt his heart stop as he heard the man address him. His usual annoyance at demeaning pet names didn’t go off. Instead, he looked the man up and down. He was taller than him with curly brown hair, wearing a colorful poncho. His long bronzed legs were wrapped in wiry muscles that made Danny fantasize about pulling off the man’s poncho to see how tight his upper body was beneath. He chewed his lips and tried to calm himself as he chastised himself for his impure thoughts. It’d been only a month or two since he finally came to terms that he was gay and hadn’t told anyone just yet. He didn’t even entertain the idea of dating someone let alone fucking someone. He had no idea how to tell if anyone around him was gay or just looking to fuck him up in an alley. This man was instantly changing that only by the deep baritone of his voice and his smile that lit up his eyes.

The sharp slap of flip-flops jarred Danny from his thoughts. The man walked into the small halo of light that lit up Danny’s spot on the street. His smile was all teeth. A thin stream of smoke left his lips and curled around the brim of his hat.

“I, uh, take requests,” Danny stuttered, unsure of what else to say.

“ _Any_ requests?” The man asked. His smile turned predatory, but Danny only blushed harder and deeper red. He hid his face in his shoulder, passing it off that he was wiping sweat from his brow. The man laughed at him. “Easy, esé. Just checking what’s on the table and what’s not.” Danny looked up and smiled. The man laughed and pinched his cheek, earning him an even deeper blush from the Puerto Rican. The man chuckled. “I didn’t think it was possible.” The statement was more to himself than Danny.

Danny spoke up. “I’ll play you any song I know for five dollars.”

“Five dollars? Why so cheap? You’re worth so much more than that.”

“I, uh, well, it’s not the original singer so it won’t be as good.”

“No more talk like that, angel.” He waggled a finger at him then dug in his pocket. Pulling out a bill that Danny didn’t see the number, the man said, “Now play me your favorite song, but make it a happy one or something about partying.” He took a step back and eyed Danny up and down. “I’m sure you’ve had your share of partying.”

Danny didn’t reply but readjusted his guitar, hating when it hit him. He stifled a moan, but caught sight of the man’s laughing eyes. _Shit._ Trying to push his dirty thoughts out of his head, he started to sing. His voice cracked. The man just gave him an encouraging look, prompting Danny to continue. Finding his voice, he sung louder, emotions pouring out of him like a fountain.

A group of people gathered around the pair. Coins and bills were tossed into his guitar case, but Danny barely recognized the sound, and put his entire heart into his song. His voice and body were becoming one, transforming into one celestial essence that soared into the cosmos and spread out over the mass of assembled bodies. When the song ended, he was met with a large round of applause and some angry glares from his fellow street performers. He looked around for the man in the poncho but he was gone. Instead a man in a suit was in his face, passing him a business card saying something about a record deal. Danny barely nodded as his mind kept drifting back to the man in the poncho wondering where he had gone.

The crowd asked for more and Danny continued to play, continuing long until the darkness had fully eclipsed the dusky blue sky. The people slowly continued on their way, shouting their praises of Danny’s talent as they disappeared down the streets. He smiled at the compliments on his musical abilities and knelt down beside his guitar case. It was littered with cash. His eyes widened in surprise, but he tried to hide his excitement as he placed his instrument inside and snap it shut. He’d count the money when he got back to his hotel.

He walked just enough steps to be in between the streetlights when a figure entered his personal space. Instinctively he took a step back to avoid the collision, but the figure followed. Pressing him against the iron fence, the familiar smile of the man in the poncho entered his line of vision.

Danny opened his mouth to speak, but soft cold hands cupped his face, silencing his tongue. An odd mix of expressions crossed the man’s face, as he looked Danny over. Hunger, restraint, teasing, and still others that Danny couldn’t decipher. He felt dizzy and pleasantly numb as this man gazed as him, stroking his cheeks and fingers tickling at the edge of his jaw and neck. Then the man leaned in closer. A leg slide between Danny’s parting them and the full lips parted and puckered slightly. Expecting to be kissed, Danny shut his eyes and leaned forward to receive the welcomed pressure, to experience the sensation, but was met with another pinch to his cheeks.

“You’ll be back in this same spot tomorrow night right, lindo?”

Danny managed to nod despite his head swimming and his loins burning with desire from the pressure on his hips and face. The man smiled and drew back. He took a step forward to make sure Danny didn’t fall when the shorter wavered. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Keep that smile. It suits you.”

Without another word Danny was left, aroused, flustered and panting against the fence with more questions than answers. His thoughts singular and aggravating.

  * ••



The sheets were drenched and tousled between his legs. Danny lay panting but unsatisfied. No matter how hard or creatively Danny tugged on himself; he didn’t cum, just like that night he met Dylan. He didn’t touch himself when he got back to the hotel after his first meeting. He remembered feeling a strong desire to, despite being told masturbation was a sin. That wasn’t the reason he didn’t, he didn’t touch himself because he didn’t want the burning desire to fade. He wanted to feel it and writhe in the new sensation. He’d never experienced sexual frustration before and it made him want to fuck all night and write music in his post-coital bliss. Knowing he wasn’t going to cum, he took to writing. After enough aggravated screams and lots of swearing, he managed to hammer out a skeleton of a new song. In the end he laid on his back, impatiently waiting for night to fall. He had prayed Dylan would come back and make him cum instead of teasing him like he did so hotly.

_Damn him._

With an aggravated sigh, Danny sat up in bed and lit a Marlboro as he thought disgruntledly. Sadly, he couldn’t stay in the hotel forever. He needed to go meet the landlord of his new apartment that he had agreed to rent over the phone last week. It was the only real estate owner who agreed to it over the phone without any background check. That was good, since Danny didn’t have a background anymore thanks to Dylan.

_Fuck you, Dylan. You start all this shit in my life but you never finish it. Or me. Fuck you,_ he thought venomously.

Dylan changed his entire life and then dropped him. He’d reacted with such anger and betrayal when Danny said he was moving to Hollywood, but the oblivious asshole didn’t even realize it was his fault. Dylan had charmed the crowd and the passing record executives into stopping to listen to Danny and like him. Once Danny was turned and he found that out, he left Dylan furious. He wanted to earn his career on his talent not have it handed to him because of a vampire’s power. It burned Danny up and he ran, but he didn’t get far. He needed blood. He always seemed to find himself back in Dylan’s bed, penetrating Dylan’s body. Dylan of course let Danny do what he wanted and snickered at his frustration. It was like he was Dylan’s personal marioneta. Danny hated him, but couldn’t live without him for decades. That was all going to change now. Danny would see to that.

…

 

“Jordon,” DaKurlzz said, poking his cheek.

“Yeah?” The scholar’s voice was groggy with sleep. He tried to shift to face DaKurlzz, but gave up and replaced his head on the banshee’s arm.

DaKurlzz continued to stroke his chubby cheek, loving the feel of his blushing skin beneath his thumb. That lingering mild embarrassment made DaKurlzz want to take him again. “Would you ever fuck me?”

“Fucking hel-ah-um…” Jordon’s fist to the sky slowly fell back down along with his facial features. “Um. I’m not sure.”

“So, no?” DaKurlzz spat. His eyes turned ghastly white as his red veins darkened as they narrowed.

“DaKurlzz, I lo-like you fucking me. The sex is great, but if I fucked you I’d… You know.”

“Become one of The Undead?” DaKurlzz asked with a pointed look. His voice was hard and his jaw clenched. “The Virus doesn’t take hold of everyone. It’s not a guarantee. You should know that of all people given all the shit that went down.”

“Well I don’t want to be in The Undead.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“I’d get kicked out of The Brotherhood,” Jordon protested. He tried to wiggle away from the banshee, but the arms tightened around his waist.

“I repeat.” DaKurlzz turned Jordon’s face to look at him, still not letting him leave his lap. “What’s so bad about that?”

“I just don’t want to be one of The Undead.”

“You said that already. Now for real. Why?” DaKurlzz demanded with a cock of his head. His breathing was too erratic, and his eyes glared menacingly at Jordon who tried to look away but couldn’t.

“I-I,” Jordon stuttered. “I just can’t leave George.”

“George,” DaKurlzz spat in disgust. Then an evil smile spread over his lips and he started laughing hysterically, leaving Jordon wondering but not daring to speak to the demon. Releasing Jordon, he fell back onto the couch. He threw his head back and covered his face as he tried to stifle his laugh. Jordon was growing nervous but knew he posed no threat against the strong demon cracking up beneath him. He remained vigil, but not daring to search for his clothes unsure of what the crazy creature would do next.

“You mean little Johnny?” DaKurlzz asked, as he started calming down. He casually scratched his crotch through his open jeans. He placed a hand on Jordon’s inner thigh, not letting him move away. “You mean the little fucker who sought out the Virus? The little prick who started the 3 Tears gang? The one who helped spread the Virus? The very one who condemned half of L.A. to Hell?”

DaKurlzz’s jerked Jordon’s face down to eye-level. Jordon fell on top of the banshee’s body, stifling a scream of pain as he felt the frigid body beneath him. DaKurlzz’s skin was cold and started glowing a muted ashen color. It started peeling off into flecks of charred flesh that scattered to the wind as he moved. His eyeballs flared bright white with his pupils dilated to yellow pinpricks. His tongue lolled like a demonic dog as he panted and saliva spat from his elongated teeth. His skin sunk into his skeleton and the soft whisper of a wail was in the air above his gasping mouth.

“The very one who fucked you over just so he could play hero and rescue you, and bring you into this _impenetrable_ den of heavenly sent bodies? _That_ George? Don’t you mean Johnny? That’s who you fucking care about?”

Jordon yelped as DaKurlzz’s fingers dug into his neck. He was tugged even closer so Jordon could hiss; “He won’t ever fuck you like I can, little bitch.”

With a vicious cry, DaKurlzz threw Jordon backwards and doubled over onto his hands on knees. Arching his back, he screamed a blood-curdling sound that rattled the very foundation of the building. Books fell, furniture moved, and Jordon just barely managed to cover his head as a large stack of books hit him. No matter how hard he tried, he could protect his ears. It was like the scream was coming from inside of him.

Finally the horrendous sound ended and DaKurlzz fell to the ground with a hard thud. Jordon moved closer when he noticed the tears pool in the banshee’s eyes. They slid down over the bridge of his nose, intertwining in his unruly curls. His body still remained skeletal but his skin was whole, and his eyes faded back to normal.

“So much blood…” DaKurlzz whispered softly. Jordon reached out a tentative hand, but the banshee quickly cried out, “Don’t…” The scholar recoiled and DaKurlzz barked a short laugh. “Of fucking course you don’t read the books in your own fucking library. Or you don’t have the tales right. My skin is so hot right now it would have seared the flesh off your bones if you touched me.” Jordon tried to respond, but DaKurlzz continued, “It’s temporary and I’ll be gone before anyone who heard me can recover. Or I’ll just burn myself alive. I’ve heard that’s one way banshee’s can go.”

“I’m sorry, DaKurlzz.”

“Shut up,” DaKurlzz mumbled.

“But I am. I really…”

“No, you’re not. You made your choice. We all did. Now get your ass to the courtyard and see if you need to piece together any of your friends.”

“Who died?” Jordon asked, concern flooding his voice.

“I never know the names. I just know when they die.” A grin spread over his face as he turned to look at Jordon from the floor. “I’m not a fortune teller like you, little bitch.” He inclined his head to the pile of clothes. “Don’t forget your pants. I wouldn’t want anyone seeing your perfect little ass but me, especially Saint Johnny. Now hurry up and get the fuck out of here! I like to experience this part alone.”

Jordon didn’t say a word, but dressed. He was torn between comforting DaKurlzz and going to his friends. Before he left DaKurlzz called out to him.

“It’s a shame really, because if you would have taken me up on this offer I’d have given you my real name. Guess I’m not that important to you, huh?” Ashes fell from his mouth revealing parts of his skull as well as his clenched teeth.

Jordon ran. He didn’t say no to DaKurlzz because of Johnny and it sure as hell wasn’t because he didn’t love DaKurlzz. It was fear. Fear ate him alive every single day since the Virus ever came into existence.

…

Jorel sat on his bed staring at the crescent shaped crack in the window. It had spread over the last couple of days, looking more like a circle with a small piece missing. It was interesting how the connecting line diverged just slightly from completing the full circumference, almost as if it couldn’t ever find it’s final connection. The crack fascinated Jorel. He was determined to not let anyone replace that window, because the shapely crack stirred something in him. He couldn’t explain it, but he could feel it.

His skin felt soft in the slightly chilly morning air. The rain last night had helped remove the humidity and left the day feeling like autumn. Birds chirped and squirrels ran to and fro in the tree outside his window. He ignored them. The warm sun was perfect for him to lounge in its rays, but he avoided the comfort. Instead he boarded up his window except for the corner with the crescent shaped crack. His room was pitched into darkness save for a skinny shaft of light that penetrated his bedroom. There was nothing about this day that wasn’t peaceful or nice, but his body was too restless to enjoy it.

For the last two days he hadn’t had his usual dream. Three days ago he had the dream, but the feelings were less intense and he woke up as if waking from a casual nightmare. Now he dreamed of nothing. He thought he’d be relieved when and if the dream ever ended, but it only left him feeling empty. His body felt heavy. Just walking felt like he was dragging a three hundred pound ball and chain around with him. He hadn’t eaten in days, but he didn’t feel any desire for food. His lips felt heavy when he tried to think of chewing. There was something not right in his head. He was agitated easily and was prone to unexplained urges to scream and punch the walls. Enough of his voice of reason held him back from doing this. His hand would probably shatter after colliding with the bricks of his room.

He felt trapped despite being able to roam the grounds as he chose. He skipped going to the library and vaguely wondered why George didn’t come yell at him. Jordon rarely came to his room. That guy was always off in some hidden nook of the domicile getting fucked up. Jorel was glad no one disturbed him, because rage was building in him. It was every bit of confusion and boredom building in the vacant void expanding in his gut. He needed something. He felt something was going to happen but he didn’t know what. Whatever it was he felt like it was out of his reach. He was starting to not fully trust George, or Jordon. They both were holding something back. He knew they were. Briefly, he wondered if Yuma could help him. Yet something told him to not drag that fuck into this. Jorel hoped Yuma didn’t know more than Jorel did, but he probably did. That angered him even more.

Throwing back a half bottle of sleeping pills, he washed them down with the forty he swiped from Jordon. Hopefully, he’d be asleep soon. He already tried twenty pills earlier and he managed to stay awake. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming because he wasn’t sleeping.

_No. It’s only today that I can’t sleep,_ Jorel reasoned. _I just need to get back to that dream. I need to feel whole again. That dream is the answer. I fucking know it is._

…

Danny walked down the street in search of a good bar where he could charm a free beer or two out of the waiter or waitress. Yet, he was met with strip club after strip club. He had no opposition to drinking in one. It just irritated him that he could never get hard by a guy or girl taking their clothes off and shaking their bodies under the garish bright lights. Dylan had told him it was because he was undead and therefore had no libido. He also told Danny that if he sucked the blood of someone who was just about to orgasm he could have something similar to human sex, but it would be better. That trick couldn’t work with Dylan’s blood and he wasn’t about to take the blood of an innocent, so he opted to stay out of those establishments.

Really, Danny should be happier than he felt. He had an interview scheduled tomorrow with a record company’s execs and his apartment wasn’t as disgusting as he thought it would be. No one seemed to care that he blocked out the windows during the day. Probably no on noticed. Instead of enjoying his life looking up, he sulked as he trudged down the street with his hands shoved in his gray hoodie with the hood up. He focused on the sound of his converse shuffling along the broken sidewalk to block out the taunts and offers from the shadows. It didn’t scare him, but pissed him off how easily people propositioned their bodies and illicit wares. Whether it was because he was a prude or he wanted an actual relationship with bedmate, he wasn’t sure.

_Well, both of course. You are a terribly wonderful prude and you clearly want me. You just won’t take me, Cherry._

_Fuck you, Dylan,_ Danny thought as his brow deepened into a scowl. Dylan’s voice had been whispering in his brain ever since his plane touched down and he set out to explore L.A. It was driving Danny insane. He was trying to forget his maker and move on with his life since Dylan didn’t want anything to do with him. Yet, the more he tried to push Dylan out, the more space he took up in Danny’s mind. With a sigh, he turned the corner and continued to mentally map out the streets for later use.

“Easy, chulo. Easy.”

Danny lifted his head at the sound of the voice and somewhat familiar accent. It was directed at a jittery youth who was shaking as he talked to a seedy looking man. He was tall and lanky with a five o-clock scruff goatee.

_First time drug deal. That’s all,_ Danny thought to himself. Easing into the shadows he watched the transaction with morbid curiosity.

“You’ve gotta chill, esé, before I give you the goods. Nothing’s going to happen to you if you play it cool.”

Danny wondered why the dealer was being so patient and gentle with the kid. The brunette looked like he was ready to piss his pants. Danny could feel the fear radiating off his body from down the block. Subconsciously Danny licked his lips.

“All right. Yeah. Okay. Yeah,” the brunette stuttered. “It’s just this is… well, I just… how long does it take for it to work?”

“It’s different from everyone, but when it does you’ll know.” The dealer held his hand out. “Money now please.”

The boy handed over the money. The dealer pocketed it after quickly thumbing through the bills. He passed him a small bottle and the boy clasped it with trembling hands.

“What powers will I get?”

Danny cocked his head in wonderment.

“Different for everyone, chulo” the dealer replied. Clasping his hands around the kid’s, he tugged him closer. “Now listen. You have to shoot small amounts of this into your veins up until the full moon. It has to be gradual or it will kill you. Don’t take it all on the night of the full moon, because you’ll be dead before you can scream. You can’t ingest it any other way than your veins, or else you’ll die. Basically if you do anything other than what I first told you, this stuff will kill you. Got that?”

“Shit,” the boy mumbled, lowering his head and trying to pull away. He squeaked when the dealer yanked him back. Cowering under the guy’s intense gaze, he sniveled a pathetic, “yes.”

The dealer tugged him closer and lowered his head to whisper in his ear; “Don’t let me down, chulo. When you get strong enough, I’ll find you and then you can have the chance to join The Undead Army.” The man stroked his hair causing the boy to whine. Blood was threatening to spill over his clenched lips, making Danny moan softly at the smell. “Got that?”

“Y-yes.”

The dealer released him harshly and took a step back. “Good. Now get out of here.”

The boy didn’t need to be told twice and rushed out of the alley. Danny watched him run, fighting back the urge to attack and drain him. The smell of fear was godly to him but he would not succumb.

_Oh but it’s so much fun, Cherry. Take him! Take him!_

_Shut the fuck up, Dylan,_ Danny hissed as his own subconscious.

“Enjoy the show, chula?” The sudden nearness of the dealer’s voice made Danny jump. He chuckled at Danny’s alarm. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare…” He paused and leaned forward with a curious frown on his face. Turning his head this way and that, he tried to look at Danny’s face. Instinctively, Danny pulled back and slapped the guy’s hand away when he reached for his chin. “You don’t need it, do you?”

“Get the fuck away from me, asshole,” Danny snarled and turned away.

“Who gave it to you?” The dealer called. Danny turned and frowned. “Your scent isn’t familiar to me, but you’re definitely not human.”

“Gave me what?”

“The 9Lives Virus.”

“I’m not diseased. Take your junkie ass shit and leave me the fuck alone.”

“You’ve never heard of the 9Lives Virus? But I can feel your power. It’s weak but I can feel it. How do you not know? Wait. Were you abandoned? Did someone knock your ass up in an alley and leave you?” The guy paused waiting for Danny to say something, but the blonde remained close lipped. He didn’t understand what the dealer meant, but he was curious. The dealer finally sighed before continuing. “That’s a shame, especially with an ass like yours. What kind of a dipshit would let such a fine piece of ass like you go?” He peered over his shades, and down and around Danny to see his ass.

“Fuck off,” Danny growled and turned on his heel. He heard a low snicker behind him, but he bit his lip and kept walking.

“Hey, chula! You need protection in L.A. It ain’t save for The Undead, especially an abandoned one. You should join the 9Lives crew. We’d take good care of you and that sweet ass of yours.”

_Kill him, Danny. Don’t let him talk to you like that. I didn’t turn you to have you be a pussy,_ Dylan hissed in his head.

Danny didn’t need Dylan’s voice to encourage him. All four of Danny’s fangs were already extended and his face contorted into a mask of pure rage. He lunged for this bitch that dared mock him and Dylan. The dealer was too quick and with several fluid pivots had Danny pinned against the asphalt. A hand clamped around both of Danny’s and twisted them behind his upper back.

“Easy there, chula,” the dealer purred as he dug his knee into Danny’s lower back. Danny grimaced as the pain. With his free hand, the dealer cupped Danny’s neck to pull his face up away from the concrete. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, but you need to learn your place, or get stronger to take a place in the pecking order. Especially before this pretty little ass of yours gets fucked over.” Despite the pain in Danny’s head he squirmed, trying to dislodge the dealer, but the man only tightened his grip until Danny cried out. Satisfied when Danny fell submissive again, he continued, “Now. Since your pretty little head seems to be hurt, my bad by the way, I’ll let you think about your decision.”

Danny bristled as he felt something prick his skin. To his relief, he doesn’t get punished with more pain, but a dark mocking laugh escapes the dealer’s lips. “You have until the full moon to make your decision, but I’d call me before that baby.”

“Why?” Danny mumbles, his head still being held in the dealer’s grasp. His eyesight goes in and out. “What will happen?”

“You were listening to what I told the kid earlier, you figure it out.”

“Did you… You fucking shot me up!”

“Bingo, chula,” the dealer cooed, stroking Danny’s hair lovingly.

“But you said I was already dead or whatever the fuck. Why did you drug me with the Virus?”

“Morbid curiosity,” the man replied.

Danny imagined him shrugging behind his back. A hand slipped beneath his hips and into the pocket of his jeans. The man gave a dark chuckle.

“What…”

“So you won’t forget me,” the man answered. “If you don’t call me with an answer, then your ass doesn’t have my protection and it’s up to the gang to decide your fate.”

“The fuck are you talking about? What fate?” Danny asked as he tried to thrash out of the man’s grip, but it only tightened. Fingers dug into his neck. His mind swarmed with numb pain and his eyes lost focus.

“Of whether you’ll live or die, of course,” the dealer replied with a laugh. His laugh dropped to a huskier chuckle that morphed into a snarling roar.

Danny coughed, as the dealer grew heavier. His fingers grew longer with the nails extending into long thick claws that pierced Danny’s shoulders. He yelped as thin wet dots of blood welled on his skin. Wiping his head to the side, he saw a giant black paw retract the claws out. Danny’s mouth was frozen mid scream as he heard the sharp breaking and resetting of bones. The dealer swayed back and forth on Danny’s back, causing him to groan in pain from having his body ground into the asphalt. It felt like he was being suffocated. Grunts and shrieks continued above him. He knew the dealer was changing into something, but what he didn’t know.

Hot breath brushed his neck, causing Danny to shiver as it hit the tiny beads of sweat transpiring down his back. Long fangs pressed against his skin, causing him to break out in a cold sweat. Danny whimpered when a long thick tongue licked the scruff of his neck, despite the somewhat loving intention. His shoulders scrunched as the beast nuzzled his head. Deep guttural mews rumbled in his ear. Despite knowing he had at least some fighting chance as a vampire against this otherworldly beast, Danny’s entire body trembled

Then it leapt and landed silently in front of him. Danny gazed up into dark fiery red eyes that were focused on him. The dealer held his gaze, letting Danny know him, before sprinting off. It was then Danny finally saw what looked like an oversized jaguar. Hard coils of muscle rippled under its coal black fur as it bounded away into the starless city.

With the dealer finally out of sight, Danny crawled to the dumpster. Drawing his knees into his chest, he huddled behind it, body still shaking in fear. He tried desperately to piece together everything that had just happened while simultaneously trying to calm his erratic breaths. He wasn’t afraid of whatever that dealer morphed into, but was of what he said.

_What’s this virus? Dylan never mentioned a virus when he made me into a vampire. What did he inject me with? Is this what Dylan meant when he said he didn’t want to come back to L.A? Was Dylan injected? Am I going to die? But I’m already dead, or rather undead._

His fingers trembled as he tried to fish out the card along with a cigarette and lighter from his jeans. He didn’t crave the nicotine, but the familiar ritual helped soothe his nerves. His zipper cut across his knuckles leaving a tiny red welt that stung like hell. Bringing a trembling cigarette to his lips, he read the card. The name _Gadjet_ followed by a phone number shown in the flame of his lighter.

_What kind of name is Gadjet anyway? Wasn’t that some chick’s name from an old black and white TV show? He’s not a vampire. But what is he? He looked like a deformed mutant cat. Was he infected with this virus?_ Danny wondered. The warm wind chilled his perspiring flesh. _Is he stronger than Dylan?_ He then realized he couldn’t hear Dylan inside his head anymore. _Where are you, Dylan?_

…

 

Jorel sat in the courtyard with a sketchbook in his lap, eyes flickering constantly back and forth from the flowers to the page. His pencil raced to keep up with what he saw. The roses were nice, but he’d always been partial to dahlias. George hated them and Jorel suspected that he was the reason they didn’t plan them in the garden. The air was nice and light, the breeze only slightly warm just enough to take the chill out of the evening. It made for a pleasant day to be outside.

People came and went sporadically, but for the majority of the time it was vacant. Jorel enjoyed the seclusion. It gave him a chance to think. He didn’t go to Jordon’s today. He was tired of feeling like everyone was holding something back from him. It was like they were afraid he would break or he’d explode. There was nothing extra special about him, so why were they worried? It didn’t make sense.

He enjoyed drawing in this mild seclusion, but his mind and body still hungered for the dream. Sometimes it was the only thing that made him happy in his life. Now he didn’t even have the vague feeling of something good inside him. All he felt was the familiar gnawing emptiness that grasped his entire soul. It felt like something inside of him was trying to pull him under an invisible current. He’d felt terrible like this before which is what led him seeking out George and The Brotherhood. It wasn’t until the dream started that he started feeling a little more whole.

_At least it’s not as bad as that time,_ Jorel thought looking down at his drawing. He was oblivious to any skill or talent in the depth of the shading or effortless grace of the lines. It just reflected sadness back to him. With a dejected sigh, he forced himself to sketch again, hoping that the act would somehow transform his mood and lift him up and out of the dimness. It didn’t matter much to him if he fucked up his drawing with his inner turmoil, but he didn’t like feeling it. He kept trying to tell himself he could change his mood if he made himself do it. Yet, when he tried he just seemed to fall that much lower into his desolate state.

_When’s this going to fucking end?_ He thought, angrily gripping his pen and gnawing on his lip.

Shadows swarmed the sky, blocking out the sun for grey-blue light. Jorel frowned and looked up to find masked men propelling from the roofs. They drew weapons as soon as they landed. Some pointed fingers pointed at him. It was a rival gang. Jorel cursed himself for not bringing his sword or gun, despite George having confiscated it, and closed his sketchbook. A large hand grabbed his arm just as he was about to jump over the bench. He was thrown to the ground and a boot planted hard on his chest. He grabbed the ankle to try and roll it off, but it only bore down into him harder. Cries from inside the sanctuary arose, but already Jorel was losing breath as the steel toe inched to his throat. He could just barely see the barrel of a gun being pointed at his head. He heard the revolver click and his blood ran cold.

Another man knocked the gunman away, but Jorel could only see a flash of gray and the number nine on his clothes. Before he could move the courtyard erupted in sand storms of dust and blood. So much blood sprayed and rained from every direction. Swords and guns were drawn; fists flew with curses on both ends. Masked men shot arrows from the rafters and hid behind columns when bullets fired back. Jorel knew these men were members of The Undead, but he didn’t understand the surprise attack. He grit his teeth, knowing that he was unarmed and couldn’t join in the fight. He wanted to experience it, wanted to feel blood reigning down on him as he mascaraed the enemy. George had taken his katana and Jorel had lost his sketchbook. Being on the new battlefield, he was now just a casualty. He slipped on the slices of human flesh and blood that littered the ground as he tried to move.

With a bright flash of light a bomb hit the ground, sending blood, dirt and bones flying. Bodies smacked into the bricks walls and into each other. A second bomb went off that sent Jorel flying into another body. They went flying into the air before pummeling to the ground with Jorel ending up underneath the other body. Pain shot through Jorel’s body as a bony arm impaled the softer part of his torso.

His eyes flew wide in pain, but blood dripped into them. Shaking his head, he cried out and wrenched his eyes tightly shut. He tried to roll to the side and slip away from the man on top of him. A hand caught his shoulder and pushed him back to the ground. Legs straddled his hips as his arms were pinned at his sides. He tried to raise his torso, but the other figure pushed him down. Fear paralyzed Jorel as he felt a hand reach out to him. He quickly turned his face, but instead of being met with more pain he felt cloth wiping the blood from his eyes. He blinked a coupled of times as he felt his eyes dry out. Then the cloth came back and lifted the rest of the blood away from his face. The touch felt good to him. Thinking it was George; he relaxed and opened his eyes. He blinked several as he adjusted to being able to see clearly again and looked up. It wasn’t George.

He opened his mouth only to shut it. The man sitting in his lap was thin, but his grip was strong and firm on his wrists. His arms were laced with wiry muscles beneath familiar tattoos that disappeared under his sleeveless shirt. Jorel noticed the hem of his shirt was full of blood, blood that had been in Jorel’s eyes. A mask covered this man’s face. It was gray with stripes of pink and blue at the mouth with splatters of blood here and there. Jorel wondered if that was the same one who saved him from the gunman earlier.

“J-Dog,” the man said hesitantly, almost as if he were asking.

When Jorel didn’t respond, the man released his wrist and reached for his mask. Taking it off slowly, he let it fall to the ground. Deep chocolate brown eyes glistened at him as excitement and longing flooded his features. Jorel knew this man was one of The Undead, but it felt weird to be under the gaze of one of them. The look was intense, warm, and undeniably happy all at once. Yet, something so familiar about the way he looked, moved, every detail made Jorel relax as he gazed upon the blood stained face.

Before Jorel could utter a sound, he was wrapped in a bone-shattering embrace of warmth. “Fuck, it’s really you. I’d recognize those eyebrows anywhere.” He nuzzled his neck. “Why’d you leave me? Don’t ever leave me again.”

Jorel just sat there stunned and completely confused, letting the other man hold him. There was something about him. His scent, his nasally voice, even that goofy smile that showed all his teeth was familiar, but Jorel couldn’t place him. He could feel him, feel the familiarity and something else, but his brain couldn’t remember. He called him J-Dog. Even that was familiar to Jorel’s ears, but why did he call him that? Was that a nickname? Did this guy give it to him?

“Who are you?” Jorel asked, pushing the man back slightly with his only free hand. He looked into this man’s eyes, hoping the answer could be found there.

The happy smiled faded into a crestfallen look and he asked, “You don’t remember me, puppy?”

Even that was familiar to Jorel. “I feel like I do, or I should, but I can’t. Tell me, how do I know you?”

“Deuce! Move!” A man in a black mask yelled before they Deuce could respond. Grabbing his arm, he pulled him away from Jorel.

“Wait!” Jorel called, holding out his hand. He scrambled to his feet and ran after the pair. Deuce turned and reached out a hand to him, causing the other masked man to stumble.

“Deuce. We have to go. Now!” The black masked man insisted, but Deuce shoved him off and charged for Jorel. Catching him, he wrapped an arm around Jorel’s waist pulling him close. Holding his cheek in one hand, he beseeched, “Come with me.”

“Where?”

Gas swarmed the courtyard. People were coughing and wrenching their guts. Deuce held Jorel tightly to him, and placed his mask over Jorel’s mouth to help him breath. He navigated them around the injured corpses moaning and writhing at their feet, trying to find shelter. Jorel clung to him like a lost child, hating that he was so scared and shook. The comfort he found in Deuce’s arms was enough to make him forget the embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Deuce mumbled as he lost his grip on Jorel. The younger squeaked as he watched Deuce collapse under the brute force of the barrel of George’s revolver.

“Jorel,” George said, pushing Jorel behind him. “You need to get out of here.”

“George, don’t kill him!” Jorel said suddenly, shoving his arm as it rose to deliver the fatal shot. Droplets of salt water flew as George stumbled backwards, his bullet going in a random direction.

“You have no fucking idea what you ask,” George growled in return, glaring at Jorel.

“Please, George. He…” Jorel started to cough from the gas. George cursed himself for not having a mask to protect him. A gloved hand came out of the poisoned mist and slapped Deuce’s mask over Jorel’s face as he started to drift from this world.

“Fucking Brian,” George seethed, masking his relief that The Undead bastard had just done what George should have done minutes ago.

“Expecting the Easter Bunny, choir boy?” Brian taunted as he quickly sidestepped George’s fist.

George knew he was laughing beneath the mask. Raising his gun, he fired, but Brian was too quick and vanished into the thick gas. George held Jorel in one arm as he looked around with his gun raised. Trying to find the jokester.

“Save your bullets, little Johnny!” Brian called from a helicopter high above the courtyard. He held Deuce in his arms. The skinnier man’s eyes pointed directly at Jorel despite the blurriness of his vision. The younger looked back, fighting the urge to go to him. Deuce shifted as if he were about to jump from the plane, but Brian jostled him back and yelled at Johnny.

“You know this one will be back real soon, J3T. Better fucking watch your back.” He fixed his eyes on Jorel and shouted, “See you soon, J-Pup!”

…


	4. Day of Deadly Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lost me? To what? What the fuck is going on, George?” Jorel shouted as he dug in his heels, putting all of his weight against in opposition of the other. “You’ve been keeping something. I know you have! You’re speaking in riddles and treating me like a fucking baby. I’m sick of it! I’m sick of you!”

“Bri-Brian?” Deuce mumbled as his head slowly cleared. He clutched at the larger man’s bicep, burying his face into his warm chest. Brian always felt so comforting when he was in pain. It was one of the many reasons Deuce liked having the muscle bound man around when they were fighting.

“S’okay, bro. I gotchu,” Brian replied, holding Deuce closer to his chest as he carried the skinny rapper. “I’m taking you to the doc. Gonna getchu checked out. You got bonked on the head pretty good. You almost blacked out.”

“Brian,” Deuce repeated in a dazed voice. “I saw him, Brian.”

“Saw who?”

“My J-Dog. When I was sleeping I had a dream and he was in it. He was covered in blood. I don’t know whose, but I was holding him. I was touching him again, Brian. I could feel his skin and see his eyes looking back at mine. He felt so warm, so real. He was scared though. I don’t know why…” Deuce moaned as Brian continued up the stairs. Brian slowed his pace to not cause any more pain to his friend. “I’m so glad I dreamed about him. I never could dream about him after we lost each other. I tried so hard. He was in my thoughts every minute of the day, but I never could dream about him.”

“Hate to break it to you, Big D, but that wasn’t a dream.”

“What do you mean?” Deuce asked, trying to roll his head upright to look at Brian’s face.

“It wasn’t a dream. We went on a raid of the Brotherhood and you found your boy in the flesh. He was there in the compound. It was almost like you were meant to find each other. I mean we’ve been keeping it a secret for so long and I’m sure 3 Tears had been hiding him well, so the fact that you guys saw each other like that was just crazy.”

“You... You knew?” Deuce snapped despite his head still feeling sluggish. Grabbing Brian’s shirt, he pulled himself within inches of the other’s face. His voice steadier than before, he snarled, “Who else knew? Did Truth?”

“Yeah, he knew. Our snipers found him there a year ago, but we weren’t supposed to tell you. Guess I can tell you all that shit since you saw him. Not like you can do anything about it. You swore to-fuck!” Brian dropped Deuce as he doubled over in pain. The skinny dick had just slammed his palm into his nose. Blood poured over Brian’s fingers. Mumbling curses to himself he looked around for Deuce.

The rapper ran in the other direction, stumbling a couple of times as he lost his balance. Brian could have easily caught the unstable man, but didn’t bother. He knew his loud mouth friend would get caught before he could get out of the castle. It made him laugh a little, knowing that the rapper could get so much more accomplished if he just kept his mouth shut more. It’d also help if he kept his personality in check, but that wasn’t going to happen. Thinking things through wasn’t Deuce’s style. Brian remained where he was, using his shirt to hold back the onslaught of blood. He knew the betrayal and hurt Deuce was going through right now was more than the asshole deserved. Despite knowing what Deuce was capable of in this mood, he honestly believed that. Deuce was the only one to live more than 9Lives. He and Jorel were the only ones who knew that.

_Shit’s about to get ugly with Deuce in this mood. It’s going to get ugly fast._

…

 

“George! I’m fine! It’s not even my blood!” Jorel protested as the larger man dragged him down the corridor.

“You inhaled gas then,” George responded not breaking his stride or grip on Jorel’s arm. “Either way we need to get you checked out. Not just for medical reasons either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jorel asked, twisting in George’s grip.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it fucking does! You’re not telling me anything! You’re just ordering me around. Why won’t you fucking listen to me?”

“Not now, Jorel. We were just under attacked and I almost lost you!”

“Lost me? To what? What the fuck is going on, George?” Jorel shouted as he dug in his heels, putting all of his weight against in opposition of the other. “You’ve been keeping something. I know you have! You’re speaking in riddles and treating me like a fucking baby. I’m sick of it! I’m sick of _you_!” With strength neither knew Jorel possessed, he wrenched himself free and threw George into the wall. His eyes flashed an eerie blue as he glared venomously at the man trying to hold himself upright against the crumbling bricks. “I used to look up to you. I wanted you, but now all you do is push me around. You’re hiding something from me and I don’t buy this ‘you’re protecting me’ crap. It’s fucking bullshit. This is your own fucked up power trip. You’ve always wanted power. I some how know you do! You want power over me. You want to control me! Why?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes you do. Why do you take me outside these walls only to imprison me again? What the fuck do you think will happen? I’ll die? We all will fucking die, George! And why won’t you tell me who that guy is? Shouldn’t I know if I’m in danger?”

“Fucking don’t star…” George’s voice broke. Tears flooded down his cheeks as his strong body began to shake. Jorel’s eyes widened at the state this man was in. Never did he see George cry. “I almost lost you today and it scared the absolute fuck out of me. I haven’t been that scared and worried in years.”

“How did you almost lose me? To that guy who _saved_ me? It was his mask that kept me from inhaling more of the gas our fucking Brotherhood sent out. They knew I was down there and they didn’t care! I don’t even know who the guy is but he saved me! I know you know him. Why won’t you tell me who he is? What’s his name? How does he know me?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does!” Jorel protested. “ _He_ knew me. When he looked at me it was like he could see right through me. It was like he knew me intimately, like he remembered me from somewhere, so don’t tell me it doesn’t matter when it sure as fuck does!”

“It doesn’t matter,” George repeated in a deep commanding voice. He stood up to his full height and moved closer to Jorel. “Because he’s as good as dead. I promise you that.”

“No! You won’t fucking touch him!” Jorel’s scream morphed from a high piercing hiss to an unearthly deep growl of pure evil and anger. Thunder cracked overhead with lighting spiking the sky at the same time. Windows shattered and the wind ripped his clothes off of Jorel as he grabbed his head and bent forward. His entire body shook, but Jorel took no notice. It was like he was possessed by another force that was trying to climb out of Jorel’s soul. His glowing electric blue eyes rolled backwards in their sockets as he fell to his hands and knees. He grinned manically as they burned white. His entire body glowed translucent white as he writhed on his knees. The concrete split and shattered beneath them, glowing like electric blue veins of lava.

George fell on his ass and screamed as the hot floor seared his ass and hands. He watched helplessly as one of his greatest nightmares became a reality in front of him. Jorel’s body convulsed as he snarled and snapped his teeth, now long fangs, like a rabid dog. His inner demon was breaking through George and Jordon’s memory-erasing drug. George couldn’t let that happen.

His bullets wouldn’t do anything and his dagger was ineffective. The contraband drugs he had on him would only make it worse. George was defenseless save for one thing. Throwing himself forward he tackled Jorel to the ground. His skin burned as Jorel’s scorched his. He screamed Jorel’s name, declaring his love for the boy, as he tightened his grip. The rawness of the emotions and physical pain in his voice made Jorel falter. An icy liquid was forced down his throat. It burned his throat and opened his lungs to the painful air that was filling the corridor. Then he blacked out.

…

  **  
**

The cover of the night veiled the jaguar well as he scaled the building. Sharp talons dug deeply into the bricks as he pulled himself higher and higher. It would have been an easier climb if he had been in his were form, but that would trigger The Brotherhood’s alarm. The jaguar didn’t want visitors. He just wanted to pay a quick visit to someone.

With a quick sniff, he changed course. Crawling sideways along the horizontal wall, he stifled a growl when he heard footsteps inside. Peculiar that people would be up at this hour. When he lived there no one, except for the assassins were up at this unholy hour. The assassins should be out in the field.

Being mindful of the narcoleptic, he continued on his way, scratching and clambering over his own powerful limbs. Then he caught the familiar scent and stopped at a window. Peering inside, he found Yuma lying in bed fast asleep. Wires draped along the edges of the bed. A long silver needle was placed in the crook of his elbow. The jaguar snarled softly at the sight. His eyes quickly scanned the window ledge. Not finding an alarm, he smiled internally. He dug his back paws deeper into the bricks and lifted his fore paws. Placing one in the exact center of the window glass, he took a single claw and sliced a rectangle out of it. Gingerly, he lifted it away and laid it against the chair beneath the window.

With a swift leap, the jaguar landed in the room and immediately launched himself on to the bed. The mattress barely dipped under his weight as he landed stealthily. Slowly he let his body weight descend onto his paws. The mattress dipped a little lower, but it was not enough to bother the sleeping man. His paws cradled Yuma’s body. He licked his jowls before bowing his head to sniff and inspect him. A growl was held back when he smelled dried blood through the bandage on Yuma’s forearm. Even more gauzes wrapped around Yuma’s pale chest. A sad mew escaped his throat before he could stop himself. Before the cat could cry out, he shifted into his human form to control himself better.

Gadjet sat naked on Yuma’s knees, looking over his lover’s body, bristling when he saw any mark that marred his beautiful skin. His fingers tightened in the bed sheets as he fought the urge to touch and comfort him. Maybe it wasn’t easier in his human form to not touch Yuma. The pain he felt was unbearable and he reached out and placed his fingertips tentatively on Yuma’s cheek. A sigh of relief passed over his lips when Yuma didn’t stir and he got to touch him.

“Who did this to you, Yumi?” Gadjet asked softly. Reaching up, he brushed the long rogue bangs from Yuma’s face. “Just give me a name and I’ll make them pay. I felt your pain when you got hurt. I left one of my new customers when I felt you fall. You should never fall. I should have been there to protect you.”

Gadjet sat back on Yuma’s knees just staring at his sleeping lover. Sadness pierced his heart, as he felt so helpless despite being so close to Yuma. “I’m sorry, Yumi. I really am. You know I left you because I would have turned you. I couldn’t control it. I didn’t want you to become a monster like me. I could hide it from these dick holes but not you. I could never keep a secret from you. You always saw right through me. And the way you made me feel at night when we snuck into each others rooms at night. We… I couldn’t control the inner beast.” He gave a feint smile and reached to stroke Yuma’s cheek. “I know you know this.” His fingertips trailed down to Yuma’s chest. “And somewhere in there… you know I still love you. I always loved you. Even when you brought Deuce to our bed, I knew you loved me more. No matter how many times _you_ or _we_ fucked him you only loved me and I only loved you.” His voice had begun to waver, so he stopped talking. Trying to stop the shaking, he clenched his fists around the sheets. Once a few tears were shed and his breathing returned to normal he dared to speak again. “I know Deuce was more of a pity fuck. It wasn’t a secret to any of us. You were always mine. I was made for you and you were made for me.” He sighed heavily. “I just wish I could heal you. I’m strong enough now to do it. But then you’d wake up and see me, and I’d have to leave you again. I don’t want you to…” His voice caught in his throat as he pushed back tears. “I just can’t do that to you.”

Leaning closer to Yuma’s ear, he whispered, “But I will come back for you, my love. I’ll come back after I’ve killed every last one of these mutant 9Lives freaks. I’ll be normal again and then _we_ can be normal. _Together_.”

Without another word, Gadjet shifted back into his jaguar form. In two soundless leaps, he was out the window, but not before he heard a mumbled, “Gadjet”. His heart shattered all over again as he hung limply on the bricks. The jaguar hissed and he cried.

…

 

Jordon sat in his damp pants bored out of his mind. He could smell the arousing scent of his last orgasm. It made him want to fuck, but he couldn’t get it hard. He’d jacked himself off more in one afternoon than he had in a week. His dick was completely spent and sore, but dying for more attention and pleasure. Yet it burned in annoyance as it throbbed slightly in heat. Jordon had already humped the couch and several other pieces of furniture for something new. He even fucked himself in various states of undress and imagined a variety of people fucking him raw. Now the thought of him spread naked and ready to be used didn’t even make him twitch. He had shoved the vibrator up his ass on more than one occasion already, so that was out. Even the pleasant after shocks had worn off his tight ring of muscles. Nothing could satisfy him, except one.

Absently, he reached for his bottle. Just before he brought it to his lips, his mind snapped into warning mode. _Oh fucking shit! This was one for Jorel._ He quickly set it aside and shuffled away as if it had a disease. Well, he had roofied it with his own brand, so in a way it was. Under George’s command Jordon had been spiking Jorel’s booze with his own concoction to help him forget. Getting pissed drunk was the best way to quietly erase Jorel’s memory of what he was and what he had done, despite it being a devious backhanded attack.

 _Just another fucking day at Charlie P. Scene,_ Jordon thought smugly. He wasn’t a scholar or an alchemist by any means. Those were just nice safe names given to him by The Brotherhood. He was something much darker and his alter ego would come out to play whenever he descended the intravenous streets of the black market. It was where he had first met DaKurlzz. Maybe if he thought of that first time he could get off.

 _Worth a shot,_ he thought and grabbed his weeny. He closed his eyes after grabbing a knife. _A little knife play might help. DaKurlzz had a knife back then. He needed it. The little fu…_

“Oh, shit…”

 

  * ••



“Hey, man. I need to buy some good stuff,” Jordon said. The guy behind the counter didn’t move, except for one eyebrow cocking upwards over his shades.

“Yeah,” he said in a flat, uncommitted tone. He was lanky, but his arms were tense with wiry muscles. His aviators hid his eyes in the low-lit shop. If Jordon was entirely honest he was a little intimidating if only because of his stoicism.

“Yeah. It’s not the kind of stuff I can find just anywhere, you know. So I’m really glad I found your place.”

“Yeah,” the man replied, placing his chin in his hand. The intense gaze pricked every nerve in his body.

“Yeah, um so, I’d like to buy…”

“What’s your name?”

“Charlie Scene,” Jordon replied, smiling at the sound of him using his cool nickname for the first time. He’d been trying to find some illegal goods and get into the black market circuit to make some dough. He was flat broke and he was not about to become a prostitute no matter how many offers he got for it. The shop owner remains silent but stood up from his stool. Placing both hands on the counter, Jordon noticed a black armband decorating his sinewy forearm. No tattoos that he could see.

“Who gave you my address?”

“No one. I found you through some online searching. I’m glad I did. I really need to get my hands on…”

“Kind of place you think I’m running? Does this look like a fucking junkie la la land shop to you? I don’t sell illegal shit. I’m fucking clean and you can get your ass out of here before I throw it out, pendejo!”

Jordon backed up, fear overshadowing his humiliation at backing down from this guy so easily. He knew he should have brought a weapon, but he’d been working on his reputation as Charlie Scene in the L.A. streets. He thought he had it. This guy’s body language was freaking him out was saying otherwise. He wasn’t about to take his eyes off of the menacing figure.

Just then the door dinged and a deep gravely voice said, “There you are, baby.”

Before Jordon could turn a slender arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him backwards. He hit a hard body as a hand on his cheek turned him to meet a white mask. One side of the facial features looked ridiculously happy while the other looked depressingly sad. It was quickly pushed up, baring a grinning face. Jordon didn’t have time to take in the other man as he was pulled onto the other’s lips.

Jordon’s entire body was swept up with this man’s movements without a single moment of hesitation. The hand moved to his neck, holding him still as he roughly forced his tongue down Jordon’s throat. The arm around his waist slid down and squeezed his ass hard. Jordon jumped and squeaked a little, causing a smile to curl on the others lips. His head swam with desire and fear, both bleeding into lust as his rationality faded in lieu of the first. Just as Jordon placed his hands on the other man’s chest, he was lowered backwards into a slight dip. His eyes grew wide and he grabbed a hold of the other’s shoulders to keep him from falling. The other swallowed the surprised yelp as if he had never uttered a single sound. Jordon knew he had though despite the dead air.

The kiss finally ended with a loud smack and a soft chuckle as the other played with Jordon hair, running his fingers through it. Still clutching to him for support, Jordon got his first look at the man. His wide playful grin stretched the full expanse of his jaw. Wild curls shot out from every direction under his mask. Dark brown eyes glittered and danced as they bore into Jordon’s soul. His whole demeanor was intense and playful as if he had known Jordon all this time, like a teasing lover. Jordon was bewildered at the least, but at the same time felt incredibly hot and turned on. He hated that he couldn’t turn his pelvis.

“So you know this guy?” The shop owner’s voice was unbelieving.

“The fuck are you asking me that for?” The man, DaKurlzz spat at the man. His face has dropped into a scowl despite not letting go of Jordon who he helped into a standing position. “Fucking course I know my own baby boy. You think I go up to just any stranger and shove my tongue down his throat?”

 _You did this one,_ Jordon thought, biting back a laugh.

“I’ve never seen him with you before,” the man insisted.

“I’ve never seen you with Big D, but that doesn’t stop you from running around talking about what your master did to your ass last night,” DaKurlzz shot back. His thumb had started to rub tiny circles on Jordon’s arm just beneath his shirtsleeve. It tickled a little, but Jordon liked it and found himself laying his head against the other’s shoulder. The crazy haired guy’s aura seemed to be mellowing a little.

“Fuck you, man. You know shit. You disappear for decades and then just waltz back in whenever you feel like it. You’re unreliable. How do I know this isn’t just some candy ass bitch you picked up to try and screw me over?”

DaKurlzz chuckled and hugged Jordon tighter. He hissed, “because.” Without taking his eyes off the Mexican, he licked a long line up Jordon’s cheek with his tongue. Jordon hated that it made him shiver and draw closer to the stranger, but that didn’t stop his body from enjoying it. “I fucking said so. My baby is good at growing shit and he came in here looking for some of your real good shit. Now are you going to quit being an asshole to a new paying customer and help him out?”

“Only if you answer me one question.” The Mexican replied, crossing his arms. DaKurlzz pursed his lips and shrugged. Unsatisfied, the man continued, “What’s his name?”

Jordon’s blood ran cold. There was no way this man would know. Maybe he somehow knew his real name was Jordon, but that he’d given the shop owner his street name. They were fucked. Jordon was majorly fucked.

“It’s Charlie Scene, bitch,” DaKurlzz replied with attitude. He squeezed Jordon quickly to mask some of the shock that transcribed his face. The Mexican just glared daggers at him. Finally, he huffed in annoyance and uncrossed his arms.

“If shit goes down, you’re coming with me,” he replied and threw a finger in his face.

DaKurlzz waved him off and let go of Jordon, gently pushing him to the counter. The transaction went better this time around under the watchful glare of the horny and crazy haired man. Jordon kept looking over at him, but the man remained silent and indicated Jordon should pay attention to the shop owner and not him. Once the transaction was complete the Mexican started for the back of the store.

“Gadjet, Gadjet,” DaKurlzz tisked. “Where are your manners to a paying guest?”

Gadjet practically growled and Jordon swore he saw teeth that were too large for a human flash under his plush lips. Gadjet rubbed his neck, as he turned back around. Fighting back what he really wanted to say, he hissed a forced goodbye and hope to see him again soon.

“Now was that so hard?” DaKurlzz chided.

“Fuck off, curly dick,” Gadjet spat and disappeared.

DaKurlzz chuckled and led Jordon outside by his back pocket. As they walked down the street and away from the stores, DaKurlzz chatted about random things and gestured flippantly. Jordon didn’t object despite the street growing darker and darker as they walked. He barely followed what the other said. His head felt woozy and his legs grew heavy, but blindly obeyed DaKurlzz with every soft squeeze or tug on his ass. Jordon felt safe and was even steered away from tripping over uneven sidewalk as they continued onward.

“If you ever need to pick up some fun things for your chemistry project look this guy up.” DaKurlzz handed him a card that simply read _Deuce._ “He’s still a dick, but not like that guy back there.” He glanced in the direction of the store. “Weird though. He’s usually the nicer one.” His voice sounded distant as if he were letting himself get wrapped up in his own head. His gaze rolled upwards as a soft wind blew through his hair. He smiled suddenly and blinked before looking back down at Jordon. “Just tell this guy that DaKurlzz sent you.”

“That’s you?” Jordon asked stupidly.

The guy smiled and pinched Jordon’s cheek. “Keep walking that way.”

“Why?”

“You won’t get hurt.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I don’t have the desire to scream when you turn that way,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And I don’t want to scream for you.”

“Scream for me? You don’t even know me.”

“But I’d like to.” DaKurlzz took a step forward and cupped Jordon’s cheek.

“Whoa,” Jordon said, taking a step back and putting his palms up in defense. “Look, man. I’m thankful you helped me out back there, but I ain’t sucking your dick or anything.”

DaKurlzz fell to his knees gracefully, but suddenly enough to unnerved Jordon. The shorter man had no time to react as arms came around his legs and held him. Rubbing his face against Jordon’s thigh, he glanced up and asked in a giddy, pleading voice, “Then can I?”

Without waiting for an answer DaKurlzz pulled Jordon’s pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It was already half hard and twitched as the night air brushed over the sensitive tip. DaKurlzz smiled as he planted kisses from the tip to his balls. Jordon’s voice caught in his throat as he gasped. The lips, tongue, and soft flesh, working along his aching shaft were turning him on. His heart pounded against his ribs and his breath quickened as DaKurlzz changed up his wicked tactics.

“Fucking hell, DaKurlzz!” He fell forward into the bricks behind the crouching man. Bracing himself on his elbows, Jordon arched his back and moaned wantonly. His hips jerked and his belly jumped as he felt DaKurlzz rub soft circles into his hips. The building orgasm in his lower belly blinded him from any other thought. His mouth hung open and he ended up drooling a little as he continued to groan and rock his hips into DaKurlzz. The other tightened his grip on Jordon’s hip and placed a hand on his belly to hold him where he wanted. Deciding to tease him a little more, he started a love bite on his pelvis just above his aching cock.

“Oh fuck, yes please…” Jordon gasped.

“Please what?” DaKurlzz taunted. His voice was even deeper as it dropped several octaves into an even more arousing register. He glanced up at the debauched boy panting and sweating above him.

“Please, please don’t tease me.”

“Oh?” DaKurlzz asked as he bit harder to ensure his mark would be semi-permanent He cocked his head coyly and smiled from beneath his lashes up at Jordon. “So that means you want me to make you cum?”

“Fuck, yes!”

“What’s the magic word?” DaKurlzz continued to verbally tease him as he kissed and licked the love bite.

“ _Please_ fuck me.”

“Who do you want to fuck you?”

“You!” Jordon practically screamed, breath raw with desire.

“What’s my name?”

“DaKurlzz! DaKurlzz!”

“That’s it. Now put it all together.”

“Fucking hell,” Jordon growled, but quickly added, “Please fuck me, DaKurlzz. Fuck me. Fuck me, please!”

DaKurlzz engulfed Jordon’s erection, sucking him down to the very back of his throat, flicking his tongue along the underside as he went. Jordon whined and moaned like a whore in heat. The other didn’t gag, but continued his ministrations, searching out every pleasure point on his dick and making him ache and burn for it. Reaching down, Jordon grabbed a fistful of the wild curls and pulled. DaKurlzz moaned shamelessly and sucked even better. Jordon didn’t realize that was even possible, but the vibrations running up his erection were blowing his mind. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he came hard and fast in DaKurlzz’s mouth. The other didn’t rest until he had pulled every last bit of pleasure from Jordon’s body and made him scream his name once again.

Holding him upright on wobbly legs, DaKurlzz cradled him into his body and refastened his jeans. He wiped the drool from his mouth with the sleeve of his black hoodie before kissing him. It was sweet, almost passionate. Jordon licked his lips to taste himself on DaKurlzz’s mouth. He whined softly and curled into his side, rubbing his face against DaKurlzz’s shoulder. The other laughed a little and kissed the top of his head.

“I knew you’d be good. Now don’t go and die on me and we can do this again some time, okay? I don’t want to be screaming your name.”

“Die… Again… wha-what… who the fuck are you?”

The man turned. Smiling giddily, he replied, “DaKurlzz of course.”

“But what do you mean next time? Do you want to date or…”

“I’ve got time to figure it out, but I will be seeing you again, baby boy.” DaKurlzz started to walk, but then called out, “Oh! And if you go to see Deuce make sure to wear a mask. If you’re going to play with the Undead you have to have a mask.”

Jordon wasn’t sure if it was his post-orgasm or the smells of his purchased fresh narcotics but he swore he saw DaKurlzz disappear before his eyes. Not walk away but literally vanish into thin air. His mind quickly snapped to more important things.

 _A mask? Where am I going to get one of those? I’m not made of money,_ Jordon thought. _I guess I could dig an old Del Taco bag out of the trash and use that._

 

  * ••



Jordon looked down at the thin streaks of blood spreading out from his crotch. He finally came, but it was painful to get there. He’d have to stop now before he seriously hurt himself. DaKurlzz was usually good at doing that for him. To distract himself from wanting more, he wondered how Jorel was doing since the attack. He heard him yelling at George before being silenced. George probably locked him in the hospital wing. Jordon couldn’t be bothered to check. At least Yuma was there to keep Jorel company. Yuma had become a wise-ass ever since Gadjet ran away. Jordon thought the longhaired rapper was bitterer than he let on and wondered if he’d start spilling more of the beans to Jorel. George probably already talked to him. Regardless, it wasn’t Jordon’s concern. It never had been. He usually didn’t get caught up in the George, Jorel, 9Lives Virus drama, but since he didn’t have his little banshee to take his mind off of living his desolate life, he was bored as fuck.

DaKurlzz. His little banshee fuck. Jordon couldn’t understand why the banshee had gotten pissed off beyond the point of reconciling. He thought that DaKurlzz just needed some time to cool off and he’d be back fucking Jordon into oblivion, but a week was pushing out the remnants of his lasting hope. And why? All because Jordon wouldn’t fuck him?

Jordon didn’t want the 9Lives Virus because he would get kicked out of the Brotherhood. He didn’t care about that. He just didn’t want to die. Once you contracted the Virus you became that much more susceptible to death. Sure you get to live nine life times and get awesome powers, but to maintain those abilities and grow stronger meant you had to do some pretty messed up shit. Worse than Jordon did as Charlie Scene.

Then after you lived your ninth life nothing could bring you back and you ceased to exist. Not even your body was left behind for others to mourn over. Doesn’t sound all that bad, but the Virus made your life even more fragile than if you remained with your mortal self. Your nine life times were short like a dying star. The 9Lives Virus weakened you body and mind. You felt every emotion and pain ten-fold. Alcohol and drugs didn’t even faze you. On top of all that you had an entire organization trying to murder you. It was not a fun time. At least not in Jordon’s eyes.

Still he missed DaKurlzz. He wondered if the banshee had lived his ninth life, but knew he hadn’t. Despite the demon never telling him how many lives he had left, Jordon heard his piercing wails at night. It always made him break out in a cold sweat. Ever since they started fucking he felt the banshee’s depression when he had to announce someone had died. DaKurlzz went through hell every night and day. Jordon remembered the occasional time when he had to soothe the banshee’s aching heart. Having to announce the death of an entire orphanage was too much. DaKurlzz blamed it on The Brotherhood. Jordon blamed Deuce. In reply DaKurlzz nearly strangled him to death. The only thing that stopped the demon from ending his life was the wail brewing in the back of his throat. Not really wanting to kill Jordon he let him go and slunk back to the corner.

 _The fuck didn’t run then, so why is he running away now? Is he sucking Deuce’s cock? Is Deuce fucking him?_ Charlie thought grinding his teeth. He kicked over a table as he thought. _This weed is not helping. What’s wrong with me?_

…

 

“Truth!” Deuce yelled as he lunged for the tall man. The other man barely had time to blink before he smacked into the cold floor. An enraged Deuce landed on top of him. Punch after punch reigned down on his face. A tattooed hand encircled his neck and started squeezing. Truth pawed weakly at Deuce, his eyes bulging and he spluttered for air. Deuce only tightened his grip and shouted, “You miserable fucking bitch! You knew! You fucking knew you little fucked up prick!”

Deuce continued to curse him out even as he was wrestled away from the 9Lives leader. It took six men to subdue the tornadic man who continued to punch and kick at anyone who touched him. Several more gangsters had to intervene and tried to grab a flailing appendage. Deuce’s mouth only shut when one gangster slammed his fist hard into Deuce’s gut. The smaller man spat saliva and blood, and gapped for air as he fell limp. He would have fallen to the floor if not for the other men holding him.

Truth meanwhile was still trying to fill his lungs. Hunched over on his hands and knees he coughed and spluttered. Gangsters were at his side, offering him water, a cold press, or anything that could help. Truth ignored them, weakly waving them off. As his vision cleared and his mind reanimated, anger started building in him. He turned to look at Deuce who was groaning like a pathetic little bitch beneath several men. They had handcuffed his wrists and pulled them high up his back to latch onto a collar that was around his neck. His ankles were even bound with rope. Despite all the restraints several gangsters pinned him with hands and knees digging into his body. One had his hand around Deuce’s throat. Truth smiled slightly at the display as he was helped to his feet.

“The fuck is wrong with you, Deuce? Have you finally lost your fucking mind?” Truth asked, his voice grew stronger with each inhale.

“You fucking lied to me you cunt!” Deuce hissed, but was silenced when the hand tightened on his throat and another pushed it into the floor.

“Get him on his knees,” Truth ordered with a snap of his fingers. Deuce wobbled slightly as the gangsters pulled him upright. Truth slammed his fist into Deuce’s face, sending him crashing to the floor. He groaned, as he lay on is side, blood pouring over his lips. Truth smiled pleasantly at the sight of Deuce choking on his own blood. He said, “You really are a piece of shit, D. I mean I’ve tried to make you happy. I tried to help you get over Jorel and then you go and pull shit like this?”

“You made me believe he was dead! You’re the fucking piece of shit. No. Shit is even better than you, dick! You’re a fucking liar, you bitch!”

Truth cocked his head in mild surprise that deuce had that much strength in him to yell. He continued, “I didn’t lie to you, dumbass. I told you he was dead and he is. He made his choice and ran away from you. He ran straight into the arms of the 3 bitch. He is dead to you.”

“You knew where he went! You knew he was alive!” Deuce screamed in pain as his wrists were yanked. He wiggled on the floor and tried to kick his assailant. Another gangster grabbed his leg and slammed it back down. Pain shot through his lower body as he was turned onto his back. A knee dug into his stomach, pinning him in place. His aching head lulled from side to side, but his body remained stationery from the others holding him. Still he had his voice. “You’re just as bad as every other dick wipe that tried to start a gang, but worse. You promise change and accepta…”

Truth turned to one of the gangsters. “Shut him up, would you?”

The other nodded and took off his bandana. He wrapped it into one long strip of fabric before shoving it into Deuce’s mouth. Holding Deuce’s nose, another held his throat. The smaller man thrashed and tried to shake them off, but a third grabbed his head and held it still and finally managed to secure the gag in place. It also helped that Deuce’s pain was dulling his reaction times. Truth smiled at the display of watching other men work Deuce over. It had always made him hot. Crouching down beside Deuce’s face, he stroked the Russian’s cheek with a deceptively sweet touch.

“Fuck you never listen, do you, dipshit? You always shoot off your mouth, throw punches, and ask for forgiveness later. You always have to get your ass in so much trouble you always end up having to take the cock.” Truth’s eyes roamed Deuce’s body and the smaller couldn’t help but shiver slightly and wiggle pathetically as the taller rapper touched him. “You know. You’re kind of cute when you’re all tied up and gagged.” Truth chuckled when he saw the defiant flash of anger burn in Deuce’s tear filled eyes. “Must be because you can’t talk. Your mouth never stops.” He stroked the corner of Deuce’s gag just beside his stretched lips. He added, “Though I did always like when you used your mouth at bed time.”

Deuce thrashed suddenly, not accomplishing anything except Truth withdrawing his hand. The gangsters held him. Reaching down, Truth seized Deuce’s throat. Not to strangle him like the Russian had done to him, but to hold him still. He wanted to look into his eyes when he spoke. He wanted Deuce to here him and understand him.

“Look at me, Aron. Jorel left you, Aron. He left you because he didn’t want you. He wanted Johnny. He joined The Brotherhood, our very enemy who wants us all dead. Jorel is dead to you whether he breathes or not. Do you really think that when this genocide is over; Jorel will find a way to spare you? After all the shit you’ve done? What case could he or anyone build? You fucked him up just as much as he fucked you up. He wants you dead as much as he wants all of us dead. Don’t you remember how much you two fucking fought? It was like hell within these walls to hear your bellyaching afterwards. You were two whiny bitches and drove all of us insane. Really it was a blessing when Jorel ran away.”

Deuce tried to move, but they had a strong grip on him and Truth held his neck firmly. Truth could see the anger as well as the heartfelt pain in his deadly glare. He knew Deuce had loved the kid, but he also knew Deuce’s real nature. It had been a blessing when Jorel left in more ways than one.

“You’re hopeless,” Truth said with a sigh. Turning to the others, he instructed, “Put him in a cell and chain him to the wall. He’s had enough pain for what he’s done today.”

“But, Truth, he tried to kill you!” One of the gangsters protested.

Truth slowly turned to him and said in a deadpan voice, “I’m down to four lives, so who the hell hasn’t?”

He didn’t watch them drag Deuce away, but his heart went with him.

…

 

“Mr. Cox and Mr. Richards will be with you shortly. Please make yourself comfortable,” the executive assistant told Danny motioning to the couch before leaving.

The office was in an abandoned house with plain furnishings. It wasn’t where he expected to meet record company executives, but Danny shrugged it off. Whenever he talked to the guys on Skype or the phone, they always put him at ease. They complimented his voice and talent many times. They also mentioned briefly that he was visually appealing for their demographics. He’d fought a blush at that and berated himself for feeling that way.

Still he was nervous and he bounced his leg up and down as he sat on the couch and waited. Finally the two familiar men came into the room. Warm smiles were plastered on their faces. They were both dressed in nice tailored suits of the finest quality and cut. Danny went to stand, but one grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down as he flopped down in the spot next to him.

“No need to get up,” Mr. Cox said, scooting around in his seat as if he was a guy hanging with his friends. His arm was around Danny’s shoulders.

“We’re all friends here,” the other replied as he poured alcohol into a glass. “Bourbon?”

“Uh, sure,” Danny said hesitantly. He took the glass as Mr. Richards sat in the chair opposite the couch. A hand came down on his bouncing thigh. Looking over he found Mr. Cox smiling at him.

“Nothing to be nervous about, Danny.” He gave Danny’s thigh a squeeze. “We love your demo tape.”

“Fantastic!” Mr. Richards announced loudly as he drained in his glass and stood up again.

“Uh, but don’t you want to hear me sing live?” Danny asked, looking at the two business executives. They were nothing like he expected.

“No need. We heard you on your demo and we love you,”

Walking around the room, he gesticulated as he exclaimed, “You’re going to be a star! We’re going to make you bigger than U2.”

“Exactly!”

“That’s great. Thank you so much, Mr. Richards.”

“That’s my dad’s name. Call me James.”

“And you can call me Michael.”

“Okay,” Danny said slowly. He was feeling overwhelmed. Something was off, but Danny tried to pass it off as just nerves and settle down. It was then he realized Michael hadn’t let go of his thigh. He tried to move further down the couch, but the man tightened his hold.

“Don’t leave now, Danny boy. Not when we’re about to make you famous.”

“I…”

James grabbed his wrists. Pulling them over his head, he fastened his tie around them and anchored them to a stronger restraint behind the couch. Danny hadn’t even heard him take his tie off and Danny jerked his arms as he felt the expensive material tighten around his wrists. He raised his hips to get some leverage to dislodge the attack, but felt Michael’s hands on his body. He froze in fear and looked down at the smiling executive.

“That’s it, Danny boy,” he purred in a sickening way as his hands found Danny’s belt. “That’s it.”

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Now don’t go making your mouth dirty,” James cooed, grabbing his head with both hands. “That’s our job.”

“You’re fucking perfect for us. Fucking perfect,” Michael replied as he forced Danny’s body back to face him. He climbed into his lap, pinning his lower body.

“Get off of me!” Danny yelled loudly as he thrashed as much as he could. James slapped a hand over his mouth. The other came over his forehead, holding him in a hard grip. Danny stilled, his eyes wide with fear as he looked up at the man.

“No yelling like that, sexy,” he cooed into his ear. Danny’s pants came out short and harsh as he stilled under the harsh grasp. “We get to have some fun with you and we pay all the right people to make you a star.”

“It’s a simple easy agreement, Danny boy, so just give in,” Michael added as he slid Danny’s belt lose and started for his shirt.

“And don’t worry. We’ll be nice with you as if you were a blushing virgin this time.” James said, pulling Danny’s head over the edge of the couch.

“But when you fuck up or try to fuck us over, we won’t be so nice, pretty boy,” Michael added as he started on the first button of Danny’s plaid shirt.

The adrenaline finally took over Danny’s fear and the blonde bucked his hips hard, sending Michael reeling backwards. He slammed into the coffee table, shattering the glass and breaking the wood. Danny reached for James next, but the other man tightened his hold on his head and pressed a hand hard into his groin to anchor him to the couch. Danny’s cry of rage was muffled against James’s practiced hand.

“Not the first time that’s happened, precious. Looks we got a wild one our hands, eh Mike,” he chuckled. “You good, bro?”

Glass tinkled as Michael sat up and licked the blood from his lips. A predatory look was on his face. “Never better. He’s going to be one hell of a ride.”

Danny’s eyes went wide as the scent of fresh blood raped his nostrils. With a snarl, he broke the tie in half. His hands grabbed James by the throat and threw him over his head, and down, right on top of Michael. The two men groaned in pain as Danny snarled above as he crawled toward their writhing forms. His fangs were bared, long, and dripping with saliva. He snapped his jowls and hissed at them, becoming more demon than human as more blood pooled around their aching bodies. The crimson pools were so tempting. It glistened against their succulent flesh and Danny was so close to his life force. All of Danny’s resolve was melting away. As he lowered his mouth a knock thundered on the door.

“Police! Open up!”

 _That fucking bitch called the cops!_ Danny thought and jerked back. Rounding on his heel he charged at the window. Not even thinking twice he jumped through it and rolled onto the pavement. Once his feet were under him on the asphalt he took off running. The wind stung his tear filled eyes. The two men had almost raped him. The ones he actually thought believed in his talent. The very ones he forsook Dylan for back in Louisiana. Dylan was right. This town was full of devils ready to show you hell. Danny thought being a vampire was hell, but it was heaven compared to the crippling fear he’d just experienced. What was worse was that he let himself be taken advantage of despite being stronger than the two combined. It took the smell of blood to bring out his true strength and make him use it.

Blinded by his painful thoughts he tripped and crashed down onto the pavement. He felt warmth rush his knee and a wet sensation spread over his skin. His elbows burned and his stomach felt like someone had punched him. Tears poured freely from his eyes, as he no longer fought them. He felt like a little kid who got hurt on the playground, but no one was there to pick him up. It was then that his mind went back to Dylan. Dylan was always trying to get him into bed whether it was to fuck or to drink blood. Why didn’t Danny feel this way with Dylan? Or did he?

He had run away from the Funny Mansion before and for a similar reason. Yet he went back several nights the next time he was in New Orleans. In fact, that was the exact reason he went back to New Orleans that summer. In his frightened state, he could finally admit that to himself.

 

  * ••



The damp air felt good on Danny’s flushed skin as he slipped out onto the balcony. It was humid and the breeze was dead, but the fresh air-cooled his raging blood. He was singing well tonight, even better than the last time he’d played the Funny Mansion. This band was actually good dedicated musicians that could play anything from their true jazz roots to more rock and harder tunes. The synergy of true-blooded musicians and a live audience made him happy despite playing to mostly stoners and the murk of New Orleans that wandered into Dylan’s house. It didn’t bother him. There was something electric in the mansion and it filled him up in the best way possible. He knew one day he would play for record company executives and they’d appreciate his talent. He dreamed of being a star one-day and Dylan encouraged him to make it a reality.

It was still a mystery why he came back. He’d cut his last trip to New Orleans short after Dylan went nuts. That’s the only way Danny could put it. He wasn’t sure if Dylan wanted to fuck him that night or do something else. It was an odd night and he vividly remembered running from the mansion with his guitar. Yet here he was back at Dylan’s place, singing for him again. Maybe he felt better because there was a crowd every night that he performed. Nothing made sense any more except being at the Funny Mansion around Dylan, which didn’t make sense.

With a shrug, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag. His eyes fell shut as the ringing in his ears faded into the muffled static of the silent night. It eased the throbbing in his head and eased his adrenalized blood. Folding his arms over his chest he casually held the cigarette away from his bod so as not to burn himself as he leaned against the bricks. A fresh cloud of smoke blew over his face. He frowned slightly confused why the smell was so pungent.

“You’re amazing tonight,” a low baritone voice hummed in his ear. Danny jerked. Turning his face, Dylan’s soft smile greeted him.

“Fuck, Dylan, it’s just you.”

“I think I surprised you, so I won’t take that personally,” Dylan replied. His lips curling up into a teasing smile.

“What? Oh, no. I didn’t mean it that way. I…” Danny looked down at his cigarette; the tip now caked with ash. “Did you just take a drag off my cigarette?”

“Maybe,” he replied with an exaggerated face of confusion. Easing closer to Danny, he asked, “You’re really on point tonight. Feeling inspired?”

“I guess that’s it,” Danny replied unsure of what to say. His eyes lingered on the hard cut of Dylan’s hipbones that peeked from his low-slung jeans as his body moved like a snake. It made his mouth run dry as he continued to get lost in the gentle contraction of his muscles. A fingertip under his chin lifted his face, taking his eyes all the way up Dylan’s long hard body until he was staring at his dark eyes.

“Do you mind me taking a smoke off your stick?”

“Uh, no.” Danny stuttered. “It just surprised me. I figured you would have already smoked.”

“Well, I did.” Dylan began chuckling. “But then yours looked really good and I couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re really weird sometimes,” Danny replied and broke away from Dylan’s grasp.

“I think you’ve told me that before,” Dylan replied with a laugh.

“I’m sure I did,” Danny replied walking to the stone railing. He placed his hands on the smooth surface and looked out over the bayou. His mind was still rattled with why exactly he came back. Why it felt so good to be back despite the fear and uncertainty of his last visit. Was it really scary? Was he thinking about it too much? Was he not thinking about it enough? Why did he reject Dylan? Did he like him at all? Was he even gay? Danny wasn’t sure whether that last question was about Dylan or himself. His thoughts were cut short when he felt hard tattooed arms wrap around his shoulders. He bit back a noise as he felt Dylan’s lean muscles press into his back.

“Do you like the sun or the moon better?”

“What?” Danny turned his head to look at him. Dylan’s face was hidden in the crook of his neck. He felt a soft intake of breath through Dylan’s nostrils against his flushed skin.

“Which do you prefer?” Dylan repeated, not looking up at Danny.

“What kind of a question is that?”

He felt rather than heard the deep sigh in Dylan’s throat. Dylan tightened his arms around Danny’s shoulders. “Please just answer.”

“The sun I guess.” The pressure on his shoulders lessened. “But the moon is gorgeous tonight. I don’t know. Maybe both.”

The touch faded from his body as Dylan released him. Swinging himself around, he leaned his ass against the stone. Crossing his arms, he looked down at his feet; completely ignoring the perplexed looks Danny shot his way. It was only when Danny placed a hand on Dylan’s forearm that he spared a glance at the younger man.

“Did I offend you?” Danny asked.

“You, angel? Not at all.”

Danny couldn’t help but blush. He had a habit of doing that whenever Dylan called him angel. Dylan smirked knowingly and watched Danny step closer to him. Trying to regain his composure, he asked, “Then what’s wrong?”

“I told you. Nothing.”

Danny moved his head forward, turning it slightly as if he could figure out Dylan’s mood from a different angle. Dylan dropped his arms to his side. Clutching the stone rail, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out why you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not…”

“You are.” Danny moved closer to him, their chests almost touching. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Angel,” Dylan replied, his voice thicker than the humid air. He raised his hands, but didn’t move toward “It’s nothing, okay? I just wanted to know your answer.”

“To that stupid sun or moon question?” Danny asked incredulously. Despite his mild frustration he somehow found his arms around Dylan with his wrists clasped behind the taller man’s neck. The pair had been finding themselves in positions like this for the last couple of nights. Neither knew who started or completed it. Their bodies just seemed to move on their own accord as if searching each other’s out. Dylan had wrapped his arms around Danny’s lower body, wrists clasped at the small of his back. They rested just above his ass, though sometimes they rubbed downwards.

“It’s not stupid, but let’s not talk about it, okay? Let’s just enjoy the night. Like I enjoy your voice and your company.” Dylan readjusted his hold when Danny squirmed perturbed at the others lack of response. Ignoring Danny’s agitation, he ran his hand over the blonde’s cheek while holding his hip with the other. “I just want you to be happy, angel.”

“But I am happy,” Danny insisted. “And I like the moon just fine. The sun makes me think of California and I miss it. That’s why I said the sun, but the moon in New Orleans is nothing like California. It’s so big and beautiful, especially from this view. It’s brighter than it is back home. It’s brighter than it was in Puerto Rico.”

Dylan finally smiled. He ran his knuckles soothingly Danny’s cheek. With a gentle tug to the waistband of Danny’s jeans, he brought the shorter boy into his body. Their lips were inches apart as Dylan whispered, “Thank you, Angel. I understand now.”

Before Danny could question further Maria appeared at the door. “Master, your guests are ready for more music.”

Danny heard the slightest growl from Dylan before the man responded, “Of course.” His arms unwrapped from Danny’s waist leaving him cold and alone in the middle of his balcony. “Please attend to them with your heavenly voice, angel. We can talk again later tonight if you’d like.”

  * ••



 

 _I love him?_ Danny thought. _No that can’t be right. Can it?_

“I _love_ him?” Danny questioned the virgin night. Not a soul was around to hear him. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t let himself believe that that was the reason he didn’t feel horrible and weird after Dylan touched him. After Dylan got mad at him. Danny now knew it was because Dylan was a vampire and experiencing blood withdrawal because he wanted Danny’s. He knew that now and forgave Dylan of his transgression by draining him nearly to the point of death. But Danny couldn’t let himself believe he loved Dylan. He couldn’t.

“Fuck you, Dylan. I don’t fucking need you,” Danny hissed softly, raping the night with his angry threat. His face contorted into a mask of blind rage and evil as he tore off into the night on the hunt for his first real taste of blood.

…

Footsteps made Deuce look up from his bound hands. His eyes widened then narrowed as he was both surprised and pissed to see that it was Truth. He lurched forward. An exclamation of ‘wait’ was called out to him, but it was too late. Thick cold rusty nails dug into Aron’s body and neck. He forgot his body was wrapped in a corset-like iron maiden. Hissing at the pain, he bit his lip and pressed himself harder into the metal. It sank deeper into his flesh scratching against his bones.

“Fucking knock if off, Decue!” Truth yelled, as he shoved him back into the safety of the wall by his unblemished shoulders. He held the spiteful man in place, looking him in the eye. “I get it. You’re fucking pissed at me, but cutting yourself up is not going to get you anywhere. You don’t have the power to faze through walls anymore and you _know_ that one’s dwindling.” His eyes darted down to his body already healing itself. “Even though you can still heal yourself.”

“I like pain,” Deuce hissed through gritted teeth. With a vicious jolt, he tried to shake Truth’s hands off, but the other was too strong. He dug his claws into Deuce not enough to break the skin but to leave red marks.

“And do you also like hot oil and vacuum attachments?” Truth asked. Deuce paused his seething for a minute at the sudden absurdity of that question, but the next he was spitting and writhing like a feral cat. Truth looked down, but didn’t lessen his grip, knowing that Deuce would just hurt himself more if he did. With a sigh, he asked, “What am I going to do with you, Aron?” Deuce bristled at the sound of his birth name. His body relaxed a bit and his fangs retracted. Three people, including Truth knew it, and it always weakened him to hear it spoken. Just another great gift for an Undead Demon in the making. “I gave you everything and yet you still go crawling back to that useless fuck.”

“Don’t you speak of him!”

“I tried to make you happy,” Truth continued in the same tone as if Deuce hadn’t spoken. “I thought I did at one time, but you just keep running. You keep hurting yourself and I have to watch you fall every time. And you don’t even give me the courtesy of letting me pick you back up and piece you together. You just run away without a word.”

“You fucking lied to me! You told me Jay was dead. Do you know how much pain that caused me? I fucking went on rampages and destroyed so many people because it shattered me. You’re no better than any of them!”

“To protect you! I knew where he went and that would have destroyed you. You would have chased after him and gotten yourself killed the second you stepped into the Brotherhood’s camp with your flashy and loud mouth.”

“You just wanted me for yourself. You couldn’t stand to see me happy with someone that wasn’t you, you selfish fuck!” Deuce mouthed off as he glanced at his restraints wondering.

“Aron…”

“Stop calling me that!” Deuce demanded, squirming under Truth’s unrelenting grip.

“Why? Does it make you hot?” Truth asked with a knowing smirk. He gripped one of Aron’s shoulders harder and used the other hand to stroke his cheek. “Always a fighter, aren’t you?”

“Fucking quit touching me,” Aron said, but was noticeably less agitated. Almost becoming pliant under Truth’s touch and soothing voice. _Fucking siren demon._

“I like touching you. You like it to. Tell me when did you stop liking it? Remember when you used to _beg_ me to fuck you raw? When did you decide to give your entire heart to that punk who runs away like you do? Is that why you wanted him, because he was a reflection of you? Were you so in love with yourself that you wanted to be with a copy of yourself?”

“Get over it,” Deuce replied.

Truth looked at Deuce as if seeing him for the first time. He’d expected a long-winded tirade of swearing and profanities and struggling, but received only three words. Three. Cold. Heartless. Words. He looked at the cell that held his once lover. The bars had been made of titanium and yet Deuce was strong enough to put a serious dent in them. He’d heard Deuce throwing himself against them even before his subordinates came to tell him. It took a dozen gangsters and magic spells to subdue the angry demon. Even the specially crafted iron maiden did little to contain the powerful demon who had tried to choke him not too long ago. Deuce’s eyes were flickering yellow as he seethed silently with anger. His fangs were extended, dripping with saliva and blood that he had coughed up in his fits. The only evidence of his previous bleeding was the stain on his clothes and the smears on his flesh.

“You’re just a fucking asshole,” Truth snarled. His voice dropped several octaves fast. Standing up his fangs extended and he lifted his gun. Just before Truth attacked, he caught sight of a lost look on Deuce’s face. He always liked that when he fucked him. Deuce jerked and twisted as he was hit with blow after blow until he finally collapsed on his iron maiden girdle. Blood pooled out beneath him, as he lay with his mouth agape.

Truth fell to his knees and threw his arms around Aron’s neck. Holding him tightly against his body, he felt his own blood pour out from his wounds. He sobbed softly against his lifeless lover.

“I love you, Aron,” he whispered as he stroked Deuce’s hair. “I love you more than that little shit could ever try. I didn’t leave you. I helped you get stronger when you realized just how weak you were. And I fucking protected you from Johnny 3 Fucks and his Brotherhood pussies. I’d never leave you Aron. I want you so much, I’d kill you just to make you mine again in death.” He chuckled a little. His normal tone coming back as he added, “With what I just did to you, that might happen soon. 9Lives, bitch.”

Aron didn’t answer except for his occasional shallow breathing. The world was darkening around him as he faded in and out of consciousness. His mind felt like it was gathering wool and his body was numb. Still he thought of seeing Jorel. Seeing the same pain in the boy’s soul that was in his own. He’d find him again. He’d be with him again. Those lips on his skin weren’t Truth’s. He didn’t want to feel them, but he didn’t want to die just yet.

“You’re getting cold,” Truth whispered.

Without another word, Aron felt himself being lifted in Truth’s arms. He snuggled into the firm arms despite wanting to sink his fangs into the flesh and drain every last bit of life from his body.

…

Jorel paced the full length of the hospital room, cursing and knocking things over.

“You want to keep it down over there, kid?” Yuma asked disinterested. “Some of us are trying to sleep and recover.”

“Fuck you!”

“I’m good, but thanks for the offer.”

“I wasn’t offering!”

Yuma rolled his eyes and sighed at the lack of Jorel knowing it was a joke. He went back to ignoring the

“I hate being controlled,” Jorel said. He repeated the sentiment several times, wanting Yuma to indulge him.

“Most people do. Although, I tend to like a little sub play now and then with the right guy,” Yuma responded. A small smile flicked the corners of his mouth up. He rolled his eyes when he heard Jorel huff. He decided to indulge the other. “You think George is the one controlling you?”

“I thought he was, but then I hurt him really bad when he brought up the guy who saved me. Now I’m wondering if it’s him who’s controlling me.”

“The guy who saved you? Who saved you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“What does he look like?”

“Around my height. Skinny. Dark black hair. I think he was wearing eyeliner. Tattoos on his hands and arms.”

Yuma hummed as if in thought, but decided to take the conversation in a different direction. “Do you ever think it’s you who’s controlling yourself? That all of your whiny actions and pent up frustrations are keeping you from being free?”

“Like what? When?”

“Like just now when you nearly filleted George?”

“He wouldn’t tell me anything,” Jorel hissed, pulling at the restraints.

“Ever think you’re not ready to know everything?” Yuma asked bluntly. “Think about it. You have a habit of attracting demons, which is why he’s anxious to take you on fieldwork even if it settles your bodily urges. You lose your temper over something as simple as him withholding information. I already heard your argument for that one. Shut up! He’s training you, whether you know it or not, to control yourself, because you lose it so very often and when you do it’s not a pretty sight. He wants nothing more than to see you happy and he’s trying his best but you just keep throwing it back in his face. Yet, he sticks by you. He can and has helped you more than that gray masked fuck.”

“How did you know he had a gray mask? Who is he?”

Yuma slapped a hand over his face. A muffled groan escaped his lips. “You really don’t learn, do you?” He ignored Jorel’s barrage of questions as he contemplated what to do. Finally he spoke up, “If you really want to find out the answers the hard way, that window is wide open.”

Jorel paused and sat upright. Shock came over him as he realized the restraints were all gone. He rubbed his wrists and ankles as he looked at the other man, finding him sound asleep as if nothing happened. He didn’t wonder long as to why Yuma basically just told him how to escape and took his first leap of faith.


End file.
